


The Luck of the Draw

by writingwords



Category: EastEnders (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Casinos, Fluff and Angst, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Sexual Content, Swearing, just a self indulgent mess really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:41:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 56,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24785572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwords/pseuds/writingwords
Summary: Ben's never relied on luck to get what he wants.
Relationships: Callum "Halfway" Highway/Ben Mitchell
Comments: 92
Kudos: 189





	1. On the Toss of a Coin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for clicking ❤️ Music for this chapter: [Be Mine - The Heavy ](https://youtu.be/PtDbFPHQI44)

“How do I look?” Ben smirks at the rear-view mirror, smoothing down his suit jacket once more.

His driver makes an approving sound as they pull up to the hotel.

Ben steps outside, basking in the reds, blues, and yellows of the lights. The hotel stands magnificently opposite him, looming over; an overpriced mammoth of a building.

“Enjoy, boss.” Tubbs hums before he drives off.

“I plan to.” He mutters under his breath as he makes his way to the casino of the hotel. Ben takes extra care to wipe his feet before he steps through the arched entrance.

If it looked luxurious outside, it’s outright decadent in here.

Ben makes his way through, pushing past people in outfits that _smell_ like money. There’s music in the air about luck being a lady and champagne glittering in glasses as if it were gold. Ben guesses it probably costs as much.

At the other end of the room is a giant table, adorned with people betting 50, 100, 200 thousands on reds and blacks with shrieks of ecstasy and exclamations of _No_ and a feeling that Ben thinks could keep him on a high forever. But he’s not here for roulette.

There’s a smaller table just to the right of it. A man in a tux is standing there opposite three others. There’s two men in navy blue suits, and a woman in a silver dress. Ben’s sure that their outfits probably cost more than the limo he drove here in.

They all laugh at something the man in the tux, the dealer, says.

Ben plasters on a smirk as he gets there, “Room for one more?”

“The more the merrier.”

“That’s what I always say.” His smirk only widens when the tips of the dealer’s ears redden.

Ben watches him shuffle the cards intently, and glances at the others around him.

The woman is definitely the oldest, and her blonde hair could probably do with another bleaching, but the glaring diamond on her makes Ben think she could probably sue him for saying as much.

The two men seem as underwhelming as each other. They’re both blonde, with slicked back hair, and they keep talking about cars and watches and women and Ben’s made a mental note to drown them out.

He focuses on the cute guy on the other side of the table, who has put down two cards now.

“Place your bets.” He flashes a smile that Ben believes is brighter than the chandelier hanging above them. “Player or banker?”

He pushes some chips in the middle with the rest of them, makes sure the dealer is looking at him before he gives him a generous once-over. “Player.”

The dealer clears his throat and looks away quickly.

_This is too easy._

“Banker four, Player nine.” There’s groans all round. This is the third coup and Ben’s been lucky every single time. One of the blondes is muttering something and the other one replies, grumbling too.

Ben counts his chips and watches them walk off with a shit eating grin.

The waitress comes over, offering Ben and the woman even more champagne and Ben gives her his watch in return.

“You’re confident.” The woman observes.

“Hmm,” he muses, catching the dealer’s eye again. “One more round?” He nods very slightly.

But the woman laughs and shakes her head, “No, you’ll bleed me dry. See you some other time, Cal.” She waves at him and places a hand on Ben’s shoulder as she walks away, her heels clacking when she leaves the carpeted area.

Ben smirks at the brunette again, “Just you and me then, _Cal_.” He puts his elbows on the table, leaning forward with the same smile that earns him a good night at the Albert.

“Not quite.” Says the guy, looking past Ben’s shoulder. So much for Ben’s smile.

Ben turns to see a man with curls and muscles making his way to them. His cologne smacks Ben in the face as he finds a place to stand, far too close to the dealer, which Ben finds is a bit much.

He goes to shake the dealer’s hand, “Rico.” He puts his veneers on display and Ben feels like gagging, they’re far too tacky and out of place here.

“Callum.” He smiles back, and Ben tries not to think about how it’s wider than the one he was given.

“Ben. Since we’re all introducing ourselves.” He looks innocently at the two, pleased when it seems like Rico is annoyed.

Callum shuffles the cards again and Rico makes a comment about his hands. Ben scoffs a little too loudly.

Ben loses the first time to Rico, and draws the second, and watches him celebrate by shoving a few chips in Callum’s direction.

Ben huffs because Rico’s so over the top but he also realises he hasn’t tipped Callum once.

“What?” Callum says tersely, his jaw set and all three men at the table seem shocked at that. Ben focuses on his clenched jawbone just for a second, sure that this shouldn’t be turning him on.

“Nothing,” he replies placatingly, dragging his eyes to stare at Rico, “I just didn’t expect our friend to be so tight fisted.”

Rico flashes Ben another display of his veneers and Ben’s certain he’s gearing up to blind him. “Well, if Callum wants something bigger,” and then he twists his body to angle at the man, “I’m sure I can provide it.”

If looks could kill, Callum’s sure Rico would be dead by now.

He winks at Callum and then collects his chips, something about quitting while he’s ahead. Ben nods along, eager to see the smug asshole go however Callum leans into Rico’s space. “But it’s only gonna get more interesting.”

Ben’s going to be sick on a casino floor.

Rico laughs, sounding uncertain. Ben catches the pointed look Callum throws him and rolls his eyes, of course the casino dealer wants more tips.

“No, he’s right, no one stops after two goes.” Saying it so indifferently that Rico doesn’t even register it.

“How bout I buy you a drink when I win?” Ben wants to pretend Rico is just being over-confident but Callum’s eyeing the freakishly tall guy up and down and nodding like he can’t wait.

Does Ben need to up his game?

Rico finally relents, “How much should I bet?”

Callum just leans further into his space, and Ben didn’t even think it was possible for them to be even closer and whispers a “Surprise me.”

Rico goes all in. So does Ben.

Callum straightens and lets Rico choose who to bet on.

“Banker.” Ben says before he can even open his mouth. Callum stares at him. Ben just shrugs imperceptibly before glancing over at Rico with an eyebrow raised.

“It’s fine,” sounding so sure of himself that Ben can only grit his teeth, “I’ll go for player. I’m feeling lucky.” He winks at Callum _again_ and Ben wants to scoop his eyes out.

Callum turns the two cards over, and watches Rico’s face drop.

Ben watches him go with a look of satisfaction. “Shame about that drink.” He calls out, not even trying to hide his smugness.

Callum bites back a smile, he can’t let Ben be more arrogant than he already is, even if he is thankful that he doesn’t need to go for a drink with Rico and his smarmy leer.

Ben turns back around and his expression is softer now.

They just stand there under the sparkling lights for a moment, and Callum can hear cheering and booing and slot machines but they sound faraway, and he wonders if Ben knows how well that suit is hugging him.

He snaps his eyes back up to Ben’s and he can feel himself heating up because he’s been caught out. He’s expecting him to be smirking, but Ben’s looking at him almost fondly.

He points half-heartedly at some poker game going on in the background. “I can’t stay here all night.” But there’s something apologetic in his tone.

Callum watches him walk away with a weird feeling in his chest he can’t quite place.

+

Callum’s only managed to take his tie off and unbutton the top of his shirt when there’s a knocking on the door.

He looks around and sorts out his pillows. He can’t wait to live in a house properly one day, rather than in hotel rooms in between shifts, although this hotel does beat the grimy bedsit he lived in before he went into the casino game.

He opens the door to see Ben with a bottle of red wine in his hand. His eyes widen. “What are you doing here?”

Ben just shrugs, “Celebrating.”

“These rooms are for staff only.”

“Well, aren’t you gonna invite me in then?” He saunters in anyway, whistling. “They gave you an upgrade.” He turns to him, eyes twinkling.

“You’re not supposed to be here. Someone might work it out.” Callum runs his hand over his face as he says it, tone somewhere between urgent and resigned.

“Work what out? That you’re getting the best sex of your life?”

“I’m talking about the whole business of you cheating and me helping you.” He whispers furiously, shutting the door fully and sighing.

“Mm, you didn’t deny the sex thing though.” Ben places the wine bottle on the bedside table.

Callum rolls his eyes, but Ben’s not fooled that easily. He walks towards the taller man and pushes him against the door, hands on his waist. He goes on his tiptoes and Callum meets him halfway.

A sigh escapes his lips as they melt into the kiss. He’s missed this all week. He’s missed _him_.

“The sex is only average.” Callum breathes out as Ben goes to kiss along his jaw.

“Well, I guess I need more practice then.” His words are just smudging down Callum’s throat now but Callum threads his fingers through his hair and walks him backwards on to the bed.

“Are these silk sheets?” Ben asks incredulously, playing with them with one hand, drawing patterns on Callum’s bare thigh with the other.

“Hmm? Maybe.” His eyes shut.

“Worn you out?” Callum just laughs in response and tightens his grip around his waist.

Ben sits up, clapping his hands with a _come on_ to which Callum protests.

“What are you doing?” He murmurs, opening an eye to see Ben looking around the room.

“Finding some wine glasses.” He says it like it’s obvious.

Eventually he does seem to find some, even though Callum’s not quite sure how.

They sit in their boxers and cheers their glasses. Ben settles back into Callum’s side silently.

Callum likes it like this. Together, without the chaos of the outside. He imagines they could be like this outside too if they quit the scam. Take up proper jobs like being chefs or mechanics.

“What are you thinking?”

“That I could be a good mechanic.”

Ben snorts at that. “I’m not so sure about that, babe. Though you would look good in overalls.”

He slaps his shoulder lightly. “I’m serious. There’s gotta be more than just this, y’know? Conning people out their money and moving to another casino before someone works it out.”

Ben just sighs heavily in response. After a few beats of silence, he says “Maybe there is. But we’re young, and getting rich, so what does it matter?”

Callum keeps trying to have this conversation and Ben just wants to shut it down. Go with the flow. This works for him and he wants it to stay like that.

“Well it matters cos I feel like I only ever see the outside world every few weekends.” There’s a bit of hesitation before Callum finishes his thought, “And I only ever get to see you when you decide we won’t get caught.”

Ben goes a bit weak at the thought that Callum misses him as much as he misses Callum, but the car lot’s not doing as well as it could, and Lexi needs to be provided for.

“Don’t you think there’s bigger, better things, Ben?” Callum almost sounds wistful.

“Well if you want something bigger, I’m sure _Rico_ can provide it for you.” He mutters, going for teasing but ending up petulant.

Callum peers at him. It takes him a second but then the corners of his lips quirk up. “You ain’t _jealous_ ¸ are ya?”

“Hmm am I jealous of the guy my boyfriend was flirting with tonight?” He pouts and says with an excessively breathless voice, “ _Surprise me, Rico._ ”

Callum just chuckles, “It got us a lot more money, though, didn’t it?”

Ben huffs indignantly.

“So,” Callum nudges his side, breaking out into a full-blown grin, “Boyfriend, huh? And here I thought I was just your bit on the side.”

Ben rolls his eyes when Callum elbows him again but there’s hints of a grin on his face too. “Yeah, yeah. Even if you was, you wouldn’t go for _Rico_ , would ya? Talk about laying it on thick, I thought his eyes would fall out his face from winking at ya.”

Callum laughs, leaning in to kiss the look of disgust off his _boyfriend’s_ face. “You’re right, ain’t my type.” Ben lets out a pleased hum. “The blonde one from before though…”

And then he kisses him again, making him forget whatever sarky comment he was going to say about that.

+

It’s that weird mid-morning time when everyone’s finally fallen asleep from partying and gambling, but the world outside, the real world, is waking up.

Ben shifts in the bed to face Callum, whose mouth is half open and he can feel his hot breath.

He considers running his hand through his hair but he doesn’t want to risk waking him up, so he settles for just looking at him for a few moments.

It’s absolutely creepy to be staring but his eyes follow every line and curve of his face until he’s convinced that he must have been a monk in his past life to be in bed with Callum in this one.

He hears his phone buzz, so he gives himself one minute. One minute to commit this all to memory, memorise him, before he reads the text from Tubbs about a truck they need to hit, and is thrown back into the hellhole that is his reality.

His life isn’t boyfriends and cuddles and quiet mornings. It’s crime and hot sex and no settling down. He got too close to blurring the lines last night.

It was his fault for believing he could have both, but the conversation from last night replays loudly in his ears, and he knows it’s unfair to expect Callum to juggle the two sides of Ben Mitchell.

He gets up, puts on his clothes, and leaves a cheque and a letter for Callum.

It’s full of apologies that he has to go and not ever come back, but that he hopes he can become a mechanic one day. He writes at the bottom that he would probably be better as a chef.

Something inside Ben twigs. Then he turns to look at the man still sleeping and whatever it was snaps in two.

He looks down at the letter on the bedside table.

There’s a voice telling him to walk away from this because it’s bound to shatter. His world is too broken for someone like Callum.

Another voice though, something much louder, tells him to rip up the letter; that it doesn’t have to be this way, that there’s a place for Callum in his life, and a place for him in Callum’s.

He lets his mind wander into a lifetime with Callum, imagines it might just work if he writes him a sweet note before he leaves instead, asking him out on a proper date.

He writes it messily on the hotel notepad, scrawls a cheesy one liner and a promise of dinner.

He looks at Callum, who’s frowning in his sleep now. He pushes his hair back from his forehead and watches Callum puff out a breath, shuffle a bit, and then smile when he finally settles.

Ben asks himself if he can handle not being the reason for his smile ever again. Then he supposes he was on borrowed time to begin with, undeserving of being that person in the first place.

His phone buzzes again. Tubbs telling him he’s outside.

Ben digs his palms into his eyes. He didn’t want to be caught up in all this but here he is, balancing himself between two worlds on a line that is going to splinter no matter what note he leaves Callum.

Ben needs to decide whether the splinters cut into the world he’s spent his whole life carving, smoothing out every detail, making a persona that makes him worthy of the Mitchell name.

Or whether they stab at the world he fell into by accident, if the shards destroy this happy fantasy land and he’s left with the fragments of a future he won’t have anymore.

Callum mumbles something in his sleep about engine parts and Ben shakes his head like it’ll force Callum out from under his skin.

He looks at the note and the letter. Then at the man he knows he could fall in love with. He brings out a coin, a simple one pound that he’s never spent since he got it. He decides to leave it up to chance.

Heads, he leaves the little note.

Tails, he leaves Callum. For good.

Callum wakes with a start from the sound of the door slamming. He’s bleary eyed and slightly sore and content in a way he never thought could be possible.

He’s not one for day drinking but sod it, he’s not been this happy ever and he reaches for the half empty bottle of wine on the table beside him.

His fingers hover around the neck of the bottle when he spots something he knows wasn’t there before. He instantly recognises Ben’s handwriting.

Callum’s heart nearly stops. But he tells himself he’s being ridiculous. Ben wouldn’t break up with him one night after putting a label on them through a _note_ of all things, would he?

Would he?


	2. 1.5 (alternate ending)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben leaves the note asking Callum on a proper date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay sorry for the wait! I had like five ideas, scrapped all of them and rewrote this whole thing but I'm much happier with it now. (Also if I keep going back and tweaking it, it won’t ever get published) So, this is the short, fluffy chapter with the happy ending while the next one's going to be the angsty, alternative ending. You can choose what to read, or read both, feedback is appreciated xxx

“Alright?” Tubbs grunts as he opens the door for him. It’s not a limo this time, but a Mercedes, much less obvious.

Ben nods, his patented smirk already painted on his face. That’s not entirely true, if the beating of his heart is anything to go by.

There’s a million insecurities and doubts racing through his head, and a drumming in his chest that he can’t seem to control.

He didn’t expect this when he walked into the hotel casino last night, and he certainly didn’t expect this when he first met the cute, brown haired dealer. But then he thinks about how every time he’s ever looked at Callum, something has shifted in his rib cage, and he supposes he should’ve known all along.

He should be scared to death that something in the back of his head is telling him that Callum’s the one, but he isn’t.

He watches the casino from the window of the passenger seat, craning his neck until it’s out of view, clutching the coin in his hand, hoping he made the right choice and knowing in his heart he did.

When Callum finally gets over himself and reaches over to see what it says, he looks at the paper for a long time. Reading it again and again, over and over.

He should have expected this, what with Ben calling him his boyfriend last night, but that’s what made Callum so intrigued in the first place.

Ben Mitchell’s an enigma. One that Callum worries he’s never going to solve.

He traces the handwriting once more.

_Le Gavroche, 8pm. Wanna see your mouth in action ;) Dress code don’t allow overalls so wear your blue suit x_

He knows he’s got a massive smile on his face but he’s too giddy to be embarrassed. He lays his head on a pillow that smells like Ben and holds it up above him with both arms. His eyes skim over the awful handwriting like he’s a teenager reading a note his crush passed him in class.

The butterflies doing cartwheels in his stomach are acting like he is.

Callum spends the rest of his day biting back a grin.

A grin that only gets wider in the middle of a fancy restaurant when the man in front of him jokes about how poncy everyone is.

A grin he has no hope of hiding when a couple of weeks later, Ben’s asking him if he wants to help him run a car dealership.

A grin he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop wearing when he finds himself a proper family in the form of a sassy blonde kid, an equally sassy equally blonde girl, a lanky ginger guy and someone he thinks is probably his soulmate.

A grin that’s going to split his face when Ben says _sorry_ after a massive tear up and lists all the reasons he loves him because it’s not easy to let go of old habits (or dodgy motors) but it would be harder to let go of Callum.

A grin that everyone around him probably assumes is plastered permanently when the love of his life goes down on one knee in the middle of Le Gavroche two years later and he stutters out a _yes_ in between tears.

A grin he has pasted on whenever he wakes up in the middle of the night to see Ben curled into him and he thanks his lucky stars that Ben looked at the coin staring back at him, decided it was wrong, and ripped up the letter anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once I've got time to myself, I want to write a couple of one shots based on this ending if anyone's interested x Feel free to criticise and stay safe loves


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ben leaves Callum the letter, breaking up with him (ffs Ben)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's the angsty alternative. I will probably continue with this and write a couple more chapters and eventually give them a happy ending, but for now here you go (I'm sorry)

“Alright?” Tubbs grunts as he opens the door for him. It’s not a limo this time, but a Mercedes, much less obvious.

Ben nods, his patented smirk already painted on his face. He’s practiced this façade for so long even he can’t tell when he’s faking it anymore.

That’s not entirely true, if the beating of his heart is anything to go by.

There’re a million thoughts racing through his head, and a drumming in his chest that he can’t seem to control.

He didn’t expect this when he walked into the hotel casino last night, and he certainly didn’t expect this when he first met the cute, brown haired dealer. But then he thinks about how every time he’s ever looked at Callum, something has shifted in his rib cage, and he supposes he might’ve known all along.

Callum’s the kind of person who’s too good for his world. And the life they could’ve made together was just the stuff of dreams. Too good to be true.

He watches the casino from the window of the passenger seat, craning his neck until it’s out of view, clutching the coin in his hand, hoping he’s made the right choice and knowing in his heart he has.

When Callum finally gets over himself and reaches over to see what it says, he looks at the paper for a long time. Reading it again and again, over and over.

He should have expected this, what with Ben calling him his boyfriend last night, but that’s what made Callum so intrigued in the first place.

Ben Mitchell’s an enigma. One that Callum worries he’s never going to get the chance to solve.

He traces the handwriting once more.

_We can’t do this anymore, Callum. I’m sorry._

He reaches for the bottle of red and sits in a stupidly extravagant hotel room that seems emptier now. He clutches the pillow on the side of the bed that still smells of Ben and finishes the wine.

Something inside him is telling him this would happen. He knew what Ben was like before he got involved and he was naïve for thinking he was enough to change that.

Callum reads the letter once more, any semblance of hope crumbling more and more at each sentence.

His eyes flit over it, scanning it as if the words are going to rearrange themselves into something new.

Eventually, he throws it down in defeat. It falls to the floor pathetically. Callum can still hear Ben saying the contents of it anyway.

He racks his brain for what went wrong and settles on the conclusion that he pushed it too far, asked too much, overstepped a line he won’t ever be able to return to now.

He’s been staring into space for longer than necessary and he chides himself for being so ridiculous. The two of them were barely boyfriends and here he is acting like this is the first time anyone’s broken up with him.

In retrospect, he should be thanking him.

Callum’s always had a habit of falling too hard and too fast.

That’s all this was.

Callum, falling too hard and Ben, coming to his senses before either of them got carried away in what was supposed to be casual.

He convinces himself this is what’s best for them, he’d already gotten to the point of discussing a _future_ with the man when this was only a fling.

Something doesn’t sit right in Callum’s chest.

He knows he’s being gullible, but it’s never felt like a fling, not since their first time.

And then his heart lurches because last night was their last time and he didn’t even know it. He realises he’s not ready to never see Ben again and it knocks the breath out of him.

He remembers Ben telling him, early on when they’d only just met, that he could disappear if he needed to. Callum had asked why he’d need to.

 _Oh you know,_ and Callum curses himself for being able to hear the smile in his voice even after all this time, _cops and crooks and crazy exes._

That’s what Callum is now. An ex.

He’s sure Ben is out there right now, thanking his stars for a lucky escape.

And here he is, replaying the last months in his mind continually. Analysing every conversation to persuade himself that this meant nothing and that he’s got it all wrong.

But like a trailer for the shitshow that is – _was_ \- Ben and Callum, every look, smile, touch, whisper, kiss, and moan repeats itself in Callum’s mind until it’s seared into his memory.

It only serves to confuse him. Maybe it’s the alcohol making him biased but nothing about the last few months feels casual.

He tries to convince himself that their agreement was just money and sex, but it doesn’t feel like it. Not to him. And he thinks about the way Ben had brushed his fingers through his hair this morning and he can’t make sense of Ben believing it was about money and sex either.

He puts his head in his hands.

As much as it hurts to admit it, he knows Ben, and he knows that if Ben means every word of that letter then there is nothing he can do but try and train his heart to forget him.

Something about all of this feels wrong. Like it wasn’t meant to happen. Callum guesses that in another universe it doesn’t, but here? Right now?

Right now, his heart is breaking and his world is fracturing and in between the cracks he sees everything they had slip away.

_I’m sorry._

Callum’s sorry too.

+19 months later+

“Bruv, this is _easy._ We’ll be in and out and no one will know.”

Ben glares at Tubbs’ insistence. He doesn’t want to be here at all. But Martin decided to grow a conscience and bail on them last minute so here he is, assisting Tubbs like he used to before.

As if he can read his mind, Tubbs claps his shoulder with a “Come on, it’ll be like old times.”

Ben winces a bit at the mention of old times. Specifically, two years ago when things were finally looking up before he went and ruined it.

“Yes, I know. I’m here, ain’t I? Cameras?”

“Important ones are broken. One thing Fowler did properly before he chickened out. Maintenance ain’t here ‘til tonight.”

Ben nods, feeling like there’s probably bigger fish to fry than breaking into hotel rooms, but guesses it can’t hurt. Ever since his genius idea of shifting stolen vehicles using the car lot took off and he hired an employee, business has been booming to the point where he’s sat twiddling his thumbs for the better part of the day. In fact, most days, he doesn’t even need to use the dodgy motors anymore.

Who knows – maybe the thrill of burglary can bring some excitement back into his life?

As Tubbs pulls up to the hotel, he confirms with their inside man that there’s some kind of party happening on the first floor, so the guests won’t be going back to their rooms anytime soon.

They’ve just about finished with the last hallway of rooms and Ben’s bag is dangerously close to overflowing when Tubbs spots a passageway leading to what looks like a master suite. He suggests Ben put away what they’ve already got to avoid suspicion while he starts jimmying the lock.

“Hurry back! I need a lookout.” He looks amused at the scowl he gets in return.

He uses the staircase by the car park on his way back, careful to stay in the blind spots Tubbs had pointed out on their ride here.

As he gets to the first floor, he makes a mental note of needing an alibi for June 23, just in case. _It’s been two years since you met him._ Ben is able to avoid reading into the fact that he remembers the date because someone walks straight into him.

“Watch it, will ya?” He snaps, more frustrated at his train of thought than the contrite looking redhead in front of him. She’s wearing an awful, sparkling, golden dress and has a glass of wine in her hand.

She manages to fumble out a sorry.

Ben waves her off and is about to make a move for the staircase but is stopped again when she asks him if he’s here for the engagement party as well.

_What’s more suspicious? A guy lurking by the stairs or a random guest at a party?_

He nods.

“So, who are you here with?”

“Err, the groom.” He’s sure he says it confidently, but she giggles like it’s the funniest joke she’s heard and slaps his arm.

Someone calls out her name and she stumbles towards the extravagantly decorated room at the end. Well, room is a bit of an understatement.

It’s a giant banquet hall furnished with silver _Just Engaged_ banners running down the walls, floral arrangements on every other table, and what looks like a bar at the end. It looks like a wedding reception, or at least a rehearsal dinner, rather than just an engagement party but Ben never really understood how the other half lived in the first place.

There’s a large, gaudy balloon arch just in front of him from where he’s standing in the doorway. Ben reflects that it’s rather tasteless to be in a hotel as expensive as this one. Two names gleam on a wall next to the escort card display.

Ben’s heart drops to his gut.

_Simon & Callum. _

There’s at least a hundred Callums in London alone, but something tugs at his heart strings and he _knows._

And, just like that, two men step into view.

There he is.

Ben feels frozen in place.

He looks just as good as Ben remembers, even better, in his black suit. There’s a ring on his left hand that the redhead is ogling eagerly and his right hand rests on the back of the man next to him. He’s got a matching ring and a doting expression.

Ben’s suddenly aware of a pulsing in his ears.

It’s like everything he had kept locked away is threatening to come out now, and he’s shaking so much that he’s forced to grasp at the door handle before his legs give way.

He lets out a shaky breath.

He watches Callum tilt his head back in laughter and thinks _this is good_. It’s what he wanted. Right? Callum’s moved on with his life and found something, someone, that’s making him happy.

And he looks happy, doesn’t he?

It’s wishful thinking to assume that just because the corners of his eyes aren’t creasing, it means he isn’t happy, and Ben knows it.

“You better hold on to this one, Callum!” Whitney says, hiccupping in the middle of her sentence. He decides then and there they will not have an open bar at the wedding.

The Wedding. His wedding. His and Simon’s wedding.

Some hopeless romantic inside him thinks it should feel more exciting, like he should be grinning as widely as Simon, or even Whitney, but he doesn’t mind. He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life with Simon.

Something in him stirs and his eye-line finds the flashy balloon display Simon had insisted on. There’s someone hovering just underneath.

Callum feels his heart stop beating.

Then Whitney nudges him and he laughs at whatever she says and gives Simon a look and turns back and sees a brown-haired waiter standing by the door.

He’s imagined it, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t think too hard about why he’s imagining his ex on the day he’s supposed to be celebrating his engagement, scared he already knows the answer to that question.

Ben leans on the wall by the hotel’s back exit, catching his breath. He’s not certain Callum saw him, but it didn’t stop him from running out.

Ben feels something crumbling inside of him. Seeing him now, in a life Ben can never be part of, he wonders how he had it in him to let him go.

_Callum’s engaged._

It claws at his chest like pain he’s never felt before.

He drinks himself to oblivion. For a year and a half, he’s convinced himself that what he did was the right thing but as his vision fades, he’s left with regrets and what ifs and relentless, unforgiving heartbreak.

As the exhaustion of the last two years hits, he thinks about another lifetime, where he might be the one engaged to Callum.

He dreams about soulmates that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with this weird AU I just had to write in the middle of the night, criticism is very much appreciated x As always, stay safe <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for clicking, first time properly attempting multi chapters so please try and stick through this <3

It’s about an hour to dawn. Callum sits on the toilet with its lid down and the light off. There’s a slither of silver seeping in. It could be the moon or a streetlight, either way it hits one half of Callum’s face. The rest of his body is still shrouded in the night-time.

He smooths out the corners of the page. Months of hurriedly stuffing it in pockets and wallets has made it fold at the edges.

The handwriting is still legible, but some of the letters are starting to fade.

He runs his fingers over it just like he did a year and a half ago.

Sounds of rumbling motors and people talking filter in through the crack in the window.

He traces the _S_ all the way to the _y_ slowly.

He’d had a weird dream just now and woke up, all sweating and disorientated, heart still racing.

His first instinct was to try to make sense of it. His grandfather had said dreams have meaning to them, but his dad had grimaced when he brought it up. He’s not sure which one of them was right.

He’d chalked it up to nerves and attempted to settle into Simon again. It wasn’t very comfortable. Hints of vodka was hanging in the air between them from when his boyfriend, (no, _fiancé_ ), had been coerced into doing shots with Ruby and Whitney a couple hours prior. It made him wrinkle his nose.

He tossed in his sheets for a few minutes afterwards.

Then, silently, and somewhat guiltily, he’d padded to find the one thing that _would_ calm him.

The light flickers. The sudden blinking makes Callum jump. So, it _was_ a streetlight. It’s glaring and artificial and so bright that Callum should have worked out that it wasn’t the moon. Then again, the lines between real and fake have been a blur to him lately.

Callum takes care not to grip the paper too tightly in fear of ripping it.

He can still hear him, clear as day, saying _sorry_. But in some deranged, twisted way, imagining his voice is what helps Callum breathe normally again.

The light flickers again, casting shadows on the contours of his face and hitting the band around his ring finger. It glints proudly in the darkness of the bathroom.

Shame washes over him, starting in his chest and spreading to the tips of his toes, drenching his body.

A finger hovers near the _B_ at the bottom of the page. 

Callum folds it and shoves it in the pocket of his dressing gown.

He puts his head in his hands.

A handful of footsteps away, the man who he’s sure he loves, is asleep.

So why, ever since the party, has he been thinking about a man who’s probably a million miles away?

It’s the waiter’s fault for looking like him and throwing Callum off.

The voice in the back of his head scoffs. _It’s not the waiter’s fault._

He feels wrong for even thinking about Ben, but his body isn’t shaking or sweating anymore, and he _really_ doesn’t know what to make of that.

He gives himself just one minute to breathe in the blues of Ben’s eyes, stamping down the guilt by convincing himself that as his first boyfriend, there’s a sense of stability about him. It’s nothing more than that. Just stability. The reminder that Jonno didn’t fuck him up entirely.

 _Yeah right._ There’s that voice again.

He doesn’t try to argue with it.

Callum didn’t think he was an ass before tonight. He does love Simon; he knows that much. This past year wasn’t him faking it.

And he can confidently say any thoughts of Ben had dwindled into an insignificant buzz when they’d first started dating. A buzz that only made its presence known following an argument he wasn’t sure they’d come back from, or when a long day would turn into a longer night because Simon was working overtime, or in the pitch black night in a toilet after his engagement party because a waiter had similar hair to him.

Callum sighs, frustrated.

He takes out the paper from his pocket. Stares at it for a while.

Maybe he is an ass. He’s just so good at pretending he isn’t that he’s tricked everyone into believing he’s an angel. But how can he be? When he’s wearing a promise around his finger on one hand while holding someone else’s vows in another?

The letter seems heavy all of a sudden. The right thing to do would be to throw it away.

The streetlight is still flickering when he creeps out to the big bins, too risky to chuck it inside his home. _Their home,_ he mentally corrects himself.

The sun is about to rise, and he should throw away the letter soon so he can pretend everything that happened tonight didn’t happen at all. That these embarrassing, disloyal thoughts never existed, that they didn’t force him into tossing something he should have binned the moment he moved in with Simon.

If daybreak hits, it’ll get harder for Callum to hide.

He can do this right now, when there’s only a streetlight spitting out a light so synthetic that in comparison, Callum almost looks like the angel everyone believes he is.

He breathes in, gearing up to do this even though it’s not a big deal.

The lid of the bin slams shut.

+

“I am never drinking again.” Simon mumbles from under a pillow.

Callum chuckles, tying his shoes from where he’s sitting at the end of the bed. Recently he’s taken up jogging every morning. Simon often jokes he does it to get out of wedding planning. He just laughs a little uncomfortably each time.

His phone pings.

“Is that your other fiancé?” He teases, smiling fondly over at Callum.

“Yeah, my not hungover one.” He gives him a quick kiss on the forehead before Simon wraps himself up in the blanket. “Tiff’s just double checking for tonight. Let’s see if you can stay sober.”

Simon just grumbles, and Callum can’t help but laugh as he leaves the house.

He thinks to himself, when he locks the door behind him, it’s so easy with Simon. They just work. When it’s not dark out and his mind isn’t all confused because of a strange dream, he can do this. Be a devoted fiancé. Easy.

“I am never drinking again.” Ben groans as he buries his head in his arms, which are folded in front of him. Jay just snickers from the other desk of the car lot.

“Why’d you drink yourself silly in the first place?” Ben looks up at him with narrowed eyes. At least he has the decency to appear sheepish when he says, “Lola told me about the voicemail you sent her at four in the morning.”

“Y’know, when I gave you this job, it weren’t so you could get with the mother of my child,” he drops his head back down, “or gossip about me.”

“I’m not _with_ her. We just,” he says with an air of what Ben recognises as forced indifference, “get along. Besides, you never answered my question.”

Ben sighs heavily but it comes out muffled. He chances a look at Jay, who’s fixed him with a stare. As his employer, Ben’s allowed to snap at him for not getting on with the accounts.

But maybe he’s still got whiskey in his system because he starts to think that sharing the problem might help him somehow.

That’s right - get it off his chest, and once he’s said it out loud and heard how absurd it sounds, he’ll be over it. He’ll be over _him_.

Okay.

Ben sits up a bit, starts fiddling with the pen in front of him.

Here goes.

“Saw my ex yesterday.” Jay nods understandingly. Ben can’t see any pity in his eyes, so he continues. “Well, weren’t never a proper relationship.” _Was to you._ “Ain’t even thought about him in ages.” _Liar._ “I dunno.”

He’s not really sure how to go on.

“When did he break up with you?”

“He didn’t.”

“Oh. And now you regret it?”

Another heavy sigh. He rubs his temples. “No. I don’t know. We wouldn’t have worked out. Just weird seeing him again.”

He shrugs at Jay, who hums in response. It’s a cop out, and they both know it. Weird doesn’t make you drink until you pass out, and Ben guesses he’s about to be told as much but instead Jay pulls himself out of his chair with a “Right, how ‘bout I get us some coffee for that hangover, eh?”

Ben’s never been so grateful.

“Mum, I said _no._ ” He chews the end of his pen and rolls his eyes in annoyance.

“Oh, come on Ben, it’s only one night, and I’m snowed under!” Her voice incredulous because Ben clearly isn’t grasping the gravity of the situation.

“I ain’t a bartender.”

“It ain’t difficult. Tina’ll show you the ropes. Look, it’s only for a couple of hours until I’m back from the supplier.”

“But – “

“No buts.” There’s a pause on the other end of the line, “Who knows, maybe you’ll get chatting to a punter. Find yourself a nice, steady boyfriend.”

The phone clicks off before Ben can argue. He’s left gaping at his screen.

“It’s official. Me mum’s gone nuts.” He throws his hands up in defeat. Jay flicks through some files, but his movements are a bit awkward, and Ben knows it’s that forced indifference again. Ben peers at the bright blue and pink cup that’s sticking out like a sore thumb on his desk.

Jay glances up at him when Ben gasps dramatically, pointing his own coffee cup at him. “You.”

Jay’s eyes widen and his posture goes rigid, it would almost be comical to Ben in any other set of circumstances, “It’s not what you think!”

“So my mum’s magically decided to force me into working a shift at the Albert and maybe find a _boyfriend,_ ” he pulls a face at the word, “just after I happen to tell you about me problems.”

Jay slumps back in his chair. “Okay. S’what you think. But I didn’t think she’d actually make you do a shift! I just said it in passing,” He crosses his arms, though, and cocks his head defiantly, “Ain’t such a bad idea, you know? The best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else.”

“I _am_ over him.”

Jay raises his eyebrows, unconvinced.

Ben goes on, “Besides, I can get under someone else without having to make daiquiris for ‘em.”

Jay laughs, “Mate, just _go_ , I’ll pop over and all. You could probably use the distraction.”

Ben considers docking Jay’s pay. He could probably buy a nice shirt with the extra cash. Use it to get chatting to a punter and find himself a nice, steady one-night stand.

+

Tiffany is hunched over, an intense look on her face, as she finds the perfect contour brush. Callum’s been confused ever since he got here.

“Done.” She leans back, smile playing on her face. She holds up a mirror to show him her hard work.

“Tiff, I’m not being funny but I look ridiculous.”

Offended, she shakes her head and puts the mirror away. They’re both sitting cross legged on opposite ends of her sofa, wearing matching eyeshadow. “You look hot! I really highlighted your cheekbones with this. You have a nice bone structure.”

“Yeah, felt like you slapped three layers of foundation on my bone structure.”

“Oh, _foundation,_ look at that, he’s learning!”

They bicker until Keegan walks into his flat and mutters something about Callum’s bronzer amusedly, his painted face not a surprise anymore. He gives Tiff a quick peck on the cheek and as he’s heading for the shower, he invites Callum to football this weekend.

Callum’s still complaining about his makeup so Tiffany tuts before finally giving him a makeup wipe. “Thank you, for this.” She says, sincerely.

“Hey, I should be thanking you, you made me pretty.”

Tiffany laughs. At first, it had just been a dare after a night of her tagging along to his and Whitney’s night at E20. But then she’d realised this would actually help her with her beauty course and had begged him to let her do it again until Callum, ever the people pleaser, gave in and they settled on letting her practice what she’d learnt at the end of each term.

So far, he couldn’t tell the difference between any of the sessions, but once or twice Whitney, or Bernie from upstairs, had stuck their head in and confirmed that, yes Tiffany is improving.

Callum didn’t mind as much as he pretended to. In reality, she had become a sort of surrogate little sister to him, and hanging out with her was enjoyable, especially since he’d moved even further away from Walford than the flat he’d been stuck in before.

They fall into conversation about tonight, and by the time Keegan emerges from the shower, Tiff’s trying to convince Callum to wear his white shirt because ‘she knows a good outfit when she sees one.’

Eventually, Callum gets up to go to work. “Don’t be late, or Ian won’t let you go on your honeymoon.” Keegan teases.

At the mention of the honeymoon, Callum’s face shuts down, but he nods at the two of them before making his way to the tube station. Tiffany frowns as she watches him go.

Ben grumbles as he locks up at the lot, Jay and his mum’s meddling playing on his mind. He’s got to take Lexi to school tomorrow morning so he won’t be doing himself any favours by getting blind drunk but, to be honest, he’s not sure he’ll be able to get through a shift at the Albert sober.

He bumps into Tubbs on his way home, which is a one-bed apartment that he’d bought to be closer to Lexi once the car lot had started taking off. It’s a bus ride away, and the irony of running a car lot while commuting to and from work isn’t lost on him. He did consider moving in with Lola and Lexi, but then he’d thought of the men he brings home and realised it was best not to.

He’s taken out of his thoughts when he realises Tubbs is talking to him. He’s boasting about a warehouse in Camden that will set him up for the rest of his life. “Or the next two months until I blow it all on gambling.” He winks.

The word gambling still brings a funny feeling to Ben’s stomach.

“Still,” Tubbs carries on, “I like the adrenaline, so I’ll probably go round robbing drunk people at gunpoint.” He laughs at his own joke.

Finally he gets to the point, much to Ben’s relief, and gives him an envelope containing his cut of the hotel job. “Even though you left me to do the biggest room on me own.” He sounds pissed, but they both know how many scrapes Ben has hauled him out of, so it’s not addressed again.

Ben hides the package in his coat and walks to the bus stop. The money burns a hole in his side as he thinks about the hotel. And then he’s thinking of Callum again. Shit.

+

“Hey, how come you ain’t wearing glitter like the others?”

Ben’s going to throw a drink in Jay’s face soon. He glares at him while serving a couple who are still making out. They come up for air to thank him and then they’re back to snogging.

Ben frowns in disgust.

He mutters something about going to collect some glasses to the other bartender, Nathan, to avoid being around the public display of affection any longer than he has to.

Someone spills their drink on his shoe when he’s pushing past. Someone else accidentally falls into him. Ben sighs. There’s absolutely no way this night could get any worse.

He tries to force his way through the crowds, carrying at least six glasses.

A dark-haired man is perched on the stool next to Jay, the two in animated conversation. Never mind. This is worse.

“Ben, look, this is Simon. He’s mates with Ruby.” Ben raises his eyebrows in acknowledgement, rounding the bar and turning away from them to make some over the top cocktail for a woman with lots of eye makeup. He’s probably screwing up the order.

Simon is still gushing over the honeymoon his _amazing_ fiancé has planned for them.

“How’d you two meet then?” He could kiss Jay for asking, even if no good can come from Ben finding out.

“Oh, it’s a bit of a funny story, actually,” Ben’s sure it is. “I met him in January last year, blind date. But, bless him, he was still hung up over this other guy. I think he proper broke his heart.”

There’s a slight pause, and it feels like everyone in the club knows it’s Ben he’s talking about.

“He actually left halfway through, when I was in the toilet.” Simon chuckles to himself fondly.

“But it all worked out?” Ben shouldn’t be getting involved in this conversation.

Simon glances up at him, like it’s the first time he’s noticing him, and flashes a smile. “Yeah it did, I saw him again a couple months later, and he asked me out properly. We’ve been together ever since.”

Jay claps his shoulder, tells him good for you or something along those lines, but Ben’s not listening anymore. The guy clearly adores Callum. And it’s not his place to be, well to be whatever he’s feeling right now. He’s sure it’s not heartbreak, or jealousy, but something in his chest is twisting in the worst way possible.

They order a pint each, Simon insisting to pay for Jay’s as well. As he’s reaching for another glass, he spots Simon’s ring and suddenly his hands aren’t so steady anymore and he knocks it over. _Snap out of it._ He curses under his breath before crouching down to pick up the pieces.

“I thought you weren’t drinking.” Ben freezes. It’s definitely his voice. Hand halfway through reaching to pick up another shard, he lets his mind wander and finds himself, against his better judgement, imagining the expression on Callum’s face. Half of his mouth is probably quirked up in a smirk but his eyes are almost certainly gentle in his teasing. He can imagine, because it’s how he used to look at Ben. “C’mon, Tiff and Whit are meeting us soon.”

He doesn’t really want to know how Callum’s going to look at him now.

He wishes he could hide behind the bar for the rest of his shift but apparently the universe hates him because Nathan comes to tell him he can deal with the mess, gesturing to the dustpan and brush he’s found.

Ben takes a couple of shaky breaths and gets up slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans because they’ve become clammy for some reason.

He lifts his eyes to face the reason, and _God_ they’re bluer than he remembers.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes that Ben can’t quite put his finger on.

Ben wants to ask him what drink he wants. Well, actually, Ben wants to ask him if there’s any chance he’ll ditch his fiancé and his idea of a funny story to run away with him. It doesn’t matter anyway, because his mouth’s gone dry and he’s using all of his strength to not just gape at him with wide eyes.

Callum’s still staring back too, although his expression is more shock than anything.

“Did you find us a table, babe?” It’s the _babe_ that snaps Ben out of it and he busies himself with wiping down the counter.

In his peripheral vision, he sees Callum nodding and pointing wherever, but his gaze is still on Ben and he finds his movements get fiercer because of it.

After a few of the longest seconds of Ben’s life, Callum takes Simon’s hand and they weave their way through the crowd.

He lets himself look up at him now. He watches him go, pays too much attention to the way his jeans hug his legs, sighs to himself because it’s more sophisticated than screaming into the nearest wine glass.

Jay nips to the toilet, and without him filling the silence with whether West Ham will be relegated or not, there’s a crushing feeling surrounding Ben that had been dormant for the last few months.

Something about seeing Callum, two days in a row, has knocked the breath out of him, and he can’t even stand straight anymore. He’s pathetic.

He tells Nathan he’s taking his break and drags himself upstairs.

The fresh air of the balcony is what he needs.

The wind is crisp rather than harsh like he expects it to be. It’s comforting.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and stares down into the street. It’s dark now, and more punters are filing in, but some are also stumbling out. He stays like that a while, just watching the people of Walford go about their night. The couple from before are eating each other’s faces off against the wall outside. About four paces from them, someone retches. He sees one guy try to smoke two cigarettes at the same time.

He’s not sure how long he stands there but eventually, more people are leaving than they are coming in, Jay being one of them, and he supposes it’s late.

His eyes fall on the two people he’s managed to avoid tonight.

He tries not to stare at Simon wrapping an arm around Callum’s waist while the two talk to each other quietly, heads close together.

Callum tilts his head back to laugh at something and catches Ben’s eye.

Simon doesn’t even notice the stutter in his actions, but Ben watches as his back straightens and his brows furrow.

He looks away and when he looks back, the two are gone. He surmises this is the only way he can handle being in the same town as Callum. With distance and fleeting glances. It allows him to imagine Callum doesn’t really exist. That if he looks away long enough, he’ll fade back into the past, where he belongs.

Seems someone out there has other plans.

Callum’s breath hitches when he sees him. The wind picks up a bit and tousles through his hair.

From the back, it seems messy, like it’s been played with. Like the way he used to play with it.

 _Enough of that_.

He clears his throat when he goes through the doorway.

Ben glances at him, eyes flitting back to the street so fast that Callum can’t even be sure that he noticed him in the first place.

“All right?” He tries, voice hoarse all of a sudden. Ben half shrugs, eyes still trained on the streetlight near the road.

There’s something so strained about this that Callum wishes he’d gone straight home. They stand in silence, him looking at Ben periodically, willing him to look back although he’s not sure what he’d do if that happened. There’re a few steps between them but there’s another distance too, and Callum can’t work out if he should widen the gap or close it.

“Your mate was looking for ya.”

“I saw him leave.”

“Yeah. Right. He thought you’d gone. You, you uh might wanna call him. Let him know where you are.”

“Okay.”

And they’re back to silence.

A gust of wind ripples through the balcony. It flaps at Ben’s shirt slightly, lifting it only to show a sliver of skin. Callum swallows.

Him and Ben may be ancient history, but he can still appreciate the guy is attractive.

Ben drops his head to stare at his feet and, after a beat, closes his eyes. “Why’re you here, Callum?” The question is quiet, like he’s scared of the answer.

Callum blinks. “Uh, me and Si were meeting a friend. And her sister. She’s the reason I’m wearing this shirt actually, said I should but honestly, I don’t even pull it off. But that’s what I get for listening to a teenager’s fashion advice.”

He’s rambling. He was aware of that about two sentences in.

He was on the right side of drunk when he staggered upstairs, telling Simon he’d left his wallet there, and he can hear himself slurring the ends of his sentences now.

But his brain isn’t working hard enough to stop his mouth from opening, and he’s also telling Ben, “I don’t even think these jeans work with it, which is weird cos I used to think jeans worked with everything.” He finally trails off when Ben takes in a deep breath.

When he turns his head, Callum realises Ben looking back at him is the worst thing in the world because his eyes are shining all the shades from indigo to cobalt and there’s something glistening behind them, but he can’t figure out what.

He furrows his brows, “I meant why’re you here, talking to me?”

And now it’s Callum’s turn to stare at the streetlight, not even wanting to begin thinking about the answer to _that_.

He draws a breath, and then, he does what he seems to be good at these days and blurs the lines between real and fake.

“Thing is, our mates live round here, so we’re always visiting. So, if you work here,” his voice surprises him when he doesn’t waver, “then I just don’t want it to be awkward.”

Ben laughs, it comes out choked and sarcastic rather than breezy. “It won’t be awkward. We happened a long time ago. Besides, I don’t even work here, I just did the one shift.” He’s turned away from Callum too, and the two men stare at the street as though there were anything down there besides drunk people stumbling across the bile lined pavements.

_We happened a long time ago._

Callum knows it’s true. He’s accepted it. He’s moved on. But the words grate at his skin harsher than the wind does.

The phrase about silence being deafening had always seemed overdramatic to Callum, but he gets it now. There’s nothing but wind whistling between them and the emptiness drains him. Drains him of what? He’s not sure yet. But it feels painful and exhausting and he puts it down to not having proper closure but that doesn’t soften whatever ache this is.

There’s alcohol and vomit and tobacco underneath that swirls into the air around them. It’s nauseating.

The stench combined with the thudding music reminds Ben of himself some time ago.

After he’d broken up with Callum, he dealt with it the only way he knew how. Liquor was his crutch and it worked for him. Drowned it out. Well. Drowned it out most nights. And here he is, standing next to the person he’s spent his nights trying to forget.

He can’t let himself go back to how he was. For Lexi’s sake.

“Right. I best be off.” Ben smiles up at Callum with an easiness he doesn’t feel. “And you should an’ all. Don’t want Simon to worry.”

Callum frowns a bit at that but he doesn’t read too much into it. “Right. Yeah. Might see you around?” Callum responds hesitantly, moving his gaze from the street to a space next to Ben’s head.

 _Not if I have anything to do with it._ “Yeah, maybe.” He shrugs, the smile not leaving his face. He’s better than Jay at the nonchalance thing. A beat passes and he heads out the door.

Then he stops and turns back around.

“Callum?”

Callum turns. Ben feels Callum’s eyes search his, and he’s trying to ask him a question with his own too. But whatever they had, if they ever had anything at all, is gone. Because neither of them can make sense of the other’s gaze.

Ben’s phone rings, striking a sharp cut between the air and splintering what was happening. He looks down at the screen flashing _Mum_.

“I just wanted to say congratulations. Y’know? You’re getting married.” He hopes he sounds enthusiastic, even if he isn’t. “I hope you guys are happy together.” The words are bitter in his mouth.

He walks out the door without waiting for Callum’s response. This is too much for him. He needs him to stay faraway. At arms’ length is best where Callum is concerned.

He decides to take the long way round to the car lot. He’s figured, since he didn’t drink a drop tonight, he deserves not to take a grimy bus back to his flat. He’s just approaching the gaudy lettering of _Square Dealz_ to choose between the Volvo and Fiat when he sees two figures opposite it.

It’s Callum. He’s standing there with his arms crossed.

The other man is Tubbs.

His comment about robbing drunk people at gunpoint rings loud in his ears and Ben’s gearing up to intervene.

Tubbs voice pierces the silence. “So, you got my text this morning?”

“Just before my run.”

Tubbs snorts.

Then, slowly, he opens his jacket and brings out an envelope identical to the one he’d given Ben this afternoon. He passes it to Callum.

Once Callum’s opened it, and given Tubbs a satisfied nod, the two separate like they’d never been interacting at all.

Hidden, he stares after Callum. As if the man needed another reason to occupy Ben’s thoughts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos so far, writing multi chapters is so hard haha.  
> Criticism welcome, stay safe, lots and lots of love x


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the slow updates, i have a bad habit of writing scenes and chapters out of order oops

Nothing’s making sense.

Not the fact that Callum and Tubbs know each other. Not his half-assed excuse for forcing conversation on the balcony. Not the zip on Lexi’s bag that keeps sticking.

It’s thrown on the floor in frustration.

“Daddy, we’re going to be late!”

“Yes, sorry princess.” He mutters, tugging his jacket on. He’ll have to fix the bag on their walk to school.

It’s a hot day. Lately, most days are. June in East London consists of a week wasted complaining about the scorching hot sun only for it to end in a massive thunderstorm that leaves everyone soaking wet. There’s a lesson in there about not appreciating what you have until it’s gone but Ben doesn’t think too much about it.

What he _is_ thinking about is last night. His thoughts start with Callum’s eyes and end with the envelope in his hand.

He’s gone through every possible scenario his mind has to offer, with each explanation more ridiculous than the last, and he’s come up with sod all.

He remembers how difficult it was to get Callum on board with fixing a couple of card games when they first met. There’s no way he would be working with Tubbs.

At least not the Callum he remembers.

“Daddy! My bag!” They’ve arrived at the school gates and he hasn’t managed to sort it. He’s fiddling with it when Lexi lets out a tired sigh, “It’s fine, I’ll just get Mr Li to do it.”

“Mr Li? I thought your teacher was a woman.”

“Yeah, but she got a baby in her tummy.” She pats her own stomach for Ben’s benefit, “So, Mr Li started last week.”

Then, on cue, a man comes into view.

Huh. He wonders what he’d do to him if they’d met at the Albert. He has a couple ideas.

As far as Ben’s concerned, he appears to be a decent teacher. Lexi excitedly answers questions about her morning and thrusts the bag to him, throwing Ben a triumphant look when he sorts it almost immediately.

“You’re good with that. Bags.” Ben cringes inwardly. Okay, so maybe he needs some practice.

The teacher laughs though, “Comes with the job.”

He waves at Lexi, who’s made her way into the classroom. “She likes you.”

“I’m glad. She’s a pleasure in class.”

“Oh, I bet she ain’t. Her middle name is trouble.”

Mr Li grins, “She does keep me on my toes. But she gets her head down when she needs to.”

“God knows how. I wouldn’t be able to concentrate with you as my teacher.” He’s expecting a scandalised look, or at the very least an uncomfortable laugh, but he chews a corner of his lip to try and hide a smirk. _Still got it._

Before he can respond, another mum comes up, asking about school dinners. “See you at pick up, Mr Mitchell?” He tries hopefully instead of telling her about the summer menu.

“Ben.”

“Kieran.” They exchange a smile as the mother lists all the allergies her son has.

He’s not coming to pick up, but it doesn’t hurt to know he could be back in the game if he wanted to. What was it that Jay said yesterday? He could use a distraction.

He smirks at the potential distracting him and Kieran could get up to.

But even thinking about yesterday reminds him of why he needs a distraction in the first place.

And Ben’s left to remember everything.

He wishes he couldn’t because it’s not only yesterday, but two years ago too, that’s running through his mind.

There’s smirks and sleights of hand and a mouth that gave Ben everything he wanted. And then there’s also the more painful, the domestic, and it’s full of smiles and fingertips and whispers.

That’s not the Callum from last night.

He felt like a stranger. Not because he hadn’t been involved with dodgy people before (Ben being a glaring example) but because he’d seemed concerned, impatient, like there was more at stake.

He’d spent half of last night analysing the relief in Callum’s eyes after seeing the envelope and the other half questioning why his hands were shaking the moment Tubbs left.

Ben’s gone mad. If he keeps this up, the poor bloke’s going to need a restraining order.

But it’s easier for his heart to try and unravel the mystery that is Tubbs and Callum rather than Ben and Callum.

Because when his mind begins to suggest the Callum that he met on the balcony –

No.

He can’t go there.

 _There_ is dangerous.

Dissecting every word he spoke. Replaying every look he gave him. Deciphering what his body language was saying for any hint that maybe he might still want –

No. No. _No._

It’s much easier to work out the Tubbs thing.

And on his way to the car lot, the gears in his brain whir like crazy trying to connect the dots.

He’s sure he’s conjured Tubbs up when he sees him leave the café.

This is great. He can get answers. So that he can go back to forgetting who Callum is.

Callum stares at his phone. _I’ve got the money. Meet me tomorrow?_ There’s no reply. He wasn’t expecting one.

He puts it on silent and in the pocket of his apron. No good can come from staring at it all day.

He heads to the kitchen. It’s a slow morning. Most Friday mornings are. He’s tried to convince Ian to open up later but that man would much rather listen to nails on a chalkboard than an opinion different to his.

A server sticks his head in. “Chef? One of the customers is asking to see you.” Callum braces himself. Most customers are nice, but there’s always a couple trying to argue that the spicy special is too hot and it’s his fault.

But he smiles when he sees who it is.

“Ain’t you got classes?”

“Not ‘til this afternoon, wanna take your break now?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know, Tiff.”

“Oh, c’mon, you’re head chef! Course ya can.”

She beams when he takes a seat opposite her.

“So what, you here for a freebie?”

“Well, actually,” Tiffany leans forward, giving him a sympathetic smile, “I wanted to check in on you. Last night you didn’t…you didn’t seem yourself.”

He chuckles, “Are you worried about me, Tiff?”

“Yes.” There’s worry laced in the crease of her brows that makes Callum look down in embarrassment. How bad _was_ he last night?

He can brush it under the rug with an _I’m fine_ but he’s got a feeling Tiffany isn’t going to be convinced that easily.

He stares at the menu in front of him when he speaks. “I’m having second thoughts.”

“About the wedding?” There’s no judgement in her tone.

“That obvious?”

“No, but it makes sense, everyone gets cold feet.”

“Did you? When you married Keegan?”

“Well, we eloped, didn’t we? Not much time to think about what we were doing. Had times I’ve wondered if we rushed into it though.” She sees him frown and adds on, “but I also don’t regret it.”

He’s quiet for a while. For someone much younger than he is, she seems to have a sense of wisdom about her. She asks quietly, “You love him, right?”

“Course. All he does is try to make me happy.”

“And?”

“And he’s funny. Thoughtful. R _eally_ fit,” she laughs at that, “and he brought me back to life. We weren’t friends back then but if you’d seen what I was like before I met him.” He shakes his head at the thought. There’s only one way to describe him pre-Simon ( _or post-Ben,_ a voice in his head supplies). An utter mess.

“Is that why you said yes?”

He thinks about her question for a while. “No. I said yes because,” he takes a breath, “Because when I wake up next to him, it makes me feel like I’m finally getting things right. And I just wanna repay the favour.” He looks up at her when he reaches the end of his sentence.

Her face lights up. Then it falls a bit. “And your second thoughts?”

“Like you said. Everyone gets cold feet. I’m in love with him, Tiff, I’d be stupid to let anything get in the way.” She grabs his hand from across the table, squeezing it. As she does so, he feels the tension and doubts seep out of his body.

He spends the rest of the day with a spring in his step.

Jay walks into the car lot office looking at Ben like he’s gone mad. Maybe he has.

He’s staring out the window with a blank expression.

He looks sideways toward the intrusion. “You ain’t supposed to be in today.”

“I just wanted to see how you was after you disappeared last night.”

Ben scratches the back of his neck, opening his mouth to apologise but Jay waves a hand.

“It’s fine. You were fine an’ all yesterday. Well, grumpy but that’s default, ain’t it?” Ben narrows his eyes, maybe he needs to implement rules on how to talk to your boss.

“Come to think of it,” he muses, “you were fine until…” He slaps a palm on his forehead. “I’m stupid! That was him weren’t it? Simon’s fella is your ex?”

“Alright, you don’t have to sound so surprised,” He mutters. “I don’t care, y’know, yesterday made me realise. I’m over him.”

“Why you staring out the window then?”

Ben ignores him. Jay comes to sit on the seats. There’re a few beats of silence until he finally caves. “I been thinking about him.” A sound like _aha_ emerges from Jay but he’s quick to clear his name. “Not like that! I saw him here with a dodgy contact of mine.” He circles to sit at his desk.

Jay doesn’t look shocked at the news.

“What? Did you know?”

“No.” He sighs in what Ben interprets as despair. “I don’t know the man. And I don’t care. Whatever he’s up to ain’t my business. And,” he raises his eyebrows at him, “it ain’t none of yours either.”

Ben leans back on his chair, fingers massaging his temple. Jay’s right. Course he is.

But his conversation with Tubbs is looping over in his head. It didn’t really give him much.

_You moneylending again Tubbs?_

_Nah, don’t need to._

_Oh? What you doing then?_

_(He’d looked at him strangely here, but went on regardless)_

Ben exhales, he can’t believe he listened to the ins and outs of how Tubbs stole three different motors and still has no idea how Callum’s involved.

“D’ya know what I think?”

Ben rolls his eyes, “Think I do, yeah.”

“No _listen_. I think you need to stop pining over an engaged man. Get back out there.”

He’s out the door before Ben can disagree.

But an annoying voice says Jay’s got a point. He’s already done this bit. Spent all his time contemplating about Callum after he was the one to end it, and it only made things worse.

He grumbles and opens up his phone. _I can do pick up today._

He’s not nervous when he stands outside the classroom door, arms crossed and standing to the side so he can make sure his hair looks up to scratch.

Lexi runs into him, “I didn’t know you were coming again, Daddy!”

“Well, I missed ya, didn’t I?”

He sees Mr Li, _Kieran_ , walk over. “Nice to see you again, Mr Mitchell.”

“And you,” He ruffles Lexi’s hair, “She wasn’t too much trouble, was she?”

Lexi huffs, but her annoyance is forgotten when her friends call her to the monkey bars.

“No, she was great. Probably takes after her father, eh?”

“Well, you could find out,” okay, he could have been smoother, “if you take me out to dinner. Tomorrow night?”

Kieran’s eyes widen in surprise before he breaks into a smile. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He gives Lexi a piggyback on the way home. She’s chattering about a weekend club the school does, football or something, and can she please go tomorrow?

Ben concedes, he’ll still have time afterwards to get ready for his date with Kieran. _His date._ He’s not as bone scared as he probably should be. This isn’t about long term relationships; it’s about forgetting past ones.

“What’s all this?” Simon’s laughing as he walks through the door, still in his uniform. There’s wine in glasses and the smell of a medium rare steak on the go.

“Wanted to treat you.” Callum calls from the kitchen. Simon comes up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, kissing him where his neck and shoulder meet as a thank you.

“You’re the best.” He murmurs.

Callum swallows, forcing down the memory of his conversation with Tiff this morning, when he meets his eyes.

They have a nice dinner. He listens to a story about a university student who got something lodged in an unfortunate crevice. He catches Simon playing with the band on his finger while he laughs.

This is good.

This is his future.

+

Ben needs some self-discipline training. Or maybe a parenting class on How Not to be a Total Pushover.

He wipes the sweat off his brow but can’t find it in himself to be annoyed when Lexi squeals, mud flying about her after a particularly skilful tackle.

It’s a makeshift football pitch in front of an AstroTurf. The side lines change depending on the referee’s mood and the goalposts are just everyone’s kits.

But, as Ben keeps on hearing from Kush, it’s all going to improve because most of the parents have put some money together. The part about Ben having to chip in is implied.

Midway through his third rant about kids needing proper coaching equipment, Ben’s eyes wander behind the under 12s pitch. People are shouting at someone called Keegan for giving away a penalty. He’s flailing his arms about in argument. Callum laughs from the other side of the field. But that’s not important.

There’s a text on his phone confirming dinner with Kieran tonight, which is step one of Operation Getting-over-Callum-although-he-is-over-him. Step two is pretending he doesn’t exist when they’re in each other’s vicinity. That also goes for Simon, who he can see leaning against the cage of the Turf, in an obnoxious yellow raincoat.

Ben rolls his eyes. Yes, the forecast said it is going to rain, but the heat right now is sweltering.

There’s cheering from the kids. Kush is especially excited. Apparently, Arthur ran onto the field and helped score a blinder. Lexi’s over the moon.

Then there’s more shouting. From the other pitch this time.

A man, bald and face like thunder, grips Callum’s shirt and pushes him back. The others crowd round, attempting to hold him off. They’re unsuccessful.

Callum points to the changing rooms. The guy storms off. Callum jogging to keep up with him. Ben trailing behind them.

He’s clutching Callum’s arm, using it to throw him against the wall next to the showers, screaming something about the money not being enough.

“What are you doing?” They both whip their head to the sound. Ben’s seething, clenching his fists, doing his best to keep them to his side.

The man sneers. “Me and Callum are just having a little talk. What’s this?” He shoves Callum, “Backup?”

His feet pound their way towards Ben. “Stuart, leave him!” It comes out desperate.

Ben lifts his eyes, Stuart’s face inches from his own, “You been bothering Callum?”.

His lips quirk up, “Have I?” He grabs Ben by the collar.

“Stuart!”

It’s starting to add up now.

“He’s the one, ain’t he?” Ben’s not looking at Stuart anymore, his eyes boring into Callum’s agitated ones. “He’s the one who’s been on your case?”

“Is that what you told him?” Stuart’s shouting again.

“Stuart, look, just –”

“You don’t have to be scared of him,” He’s as loud as Stuart, “That’s why you were working with Tubbs?”

“Scared of him?” He winds his other arm around the material on Ben’s shoulder. “Is that what he said?”

“It’s nothing like that, Stu, just put him down!” He’s bordering on begging.

Stuart pushes him to the ground.

“Stuart, please!”

He gives Callum a funny look, looks at Ben like he’s something he’s trodden in, and shakes his head. “You really have no idea.”

Ben hears the door swing shut and scrambles to his feet, panting.

“What was that about, Ben? Charging in here, screwing things up?”

Ben can’t believe his ears. “Screwing things up? He had you against the wall!”

“I can fight my own battles, Ben. You ain’t some knight in bleedin’ armour!” He paces up and down, raising his voice at each syllable.

“Yeah, you looked like you were winning that fight.”

“Ain’t none of your business!” He yells it, stopping a footstep away from Ben, his hot breath hitting Ben square in the face.

“Oh, screw you, Callum. I was only trying to help. More than can be said about your fiancé.” He regrets it as soon as he says it because Callum‘s mouth splits into a wry smile in response, looking up at the ceiling.

“Is that what this is about? Proving a point?”

“No, course not. I was worried about ya!” He wants to take one step closer, try and make him believe it.

“You don’t get to be worried about me!”

The door flings open and the two men jump apart.

Simon rushes in with Kush. They look at each other. Then at Ben. “It’s Lexi.”

+

Callum clutches the steering wheel tightly.

“Take a left over here.” Ben’s voice is even but he can tell he’s trying to hide his concern. He glances over at the man in the back seat.

He’s got one arm around his daughter, and the other under her ankle. She’s biting her lip. “Does it still hurt, baby?”

She nods, a couple tears spilling over, “But Simon’s helped make it better.” He shoots the guy on the other side of Lexi a grateful look.

Simon smiles, “Just keep it elevated and get plenty of rest.”

“We’re lucky we had a paramedic at the match today, ain’t we, Lex?” He nudges her a bit to make her smile.

“Yeah well, beats looking after the family business.”

“What’s the family business?” She pipes up, ignoring Ben’s hushed _Lexi._

“No, it’s fine. My family owns hotels. Callum and I actually had our engagement party at one of them - Cal’s idea.” He looks over to the rear view mirror with a small smile. Callum focuses on the road ahead of him, turning on the windscreen wipers.

“You staying at mine tonight?” Lexi shakes her head, he sees Ben try not to let his face fall, “Rather be with mummy?”

“No, but you’ve got dinner with Mr Li.” She giggles. Callum’s knuckles turn white. Ben protests, says they can take a rain check but she’s adamant. “Daddy, nobody’s wanted to date you for a long time!”

Ben sighs. There’s not a better way to be made to look like a loser in front of your ex.

Callum watches the two men help Lexi to Ben’s flat, Simon advising him to keep her at home for a couple of days, drumming his fingers on the door frame.

Stuart’s texted him. _Meet me. Back at the pitch. No backup this time._ He wants to chuck his phone out the window.

He jumps when Simon climbs into the passenger seat. “Poor bloke, worried sick. Kept apologising for using our car but I told him, no need to fret, making her walk back would have just made it worse, even if it is only a couple minutes. Her mum’s coming to get her in a bit. God knows she’s got her work cut out for her in this rain. I heard it’s gonna get worse through the night. There’s gonna be lightning, thunder, the works.”

Callum hums, in the time it took Simon to ramble about whatever, he’s managed to punch in their address on the Satnav.

Simon sighs, Callum can see him staring at him, twisting his mouth in the way he does before he’s about to ask something serious. “You never told me you were back in touch with your brother.”

“You know what he’s like. Disappears after a week or two. Didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

“Is that why you’ve been all nervous. Ever since our engagement thing?” Callum shrugs feebly. “He’s a nightmare. Coming round, shouting the odds, who does he think he is?”

“Yeah, well, he’s going through some things, Si.”

“Don’t mean you need to hold his hand. He can look after himself. You don’t see my sisters come wailing every time they’ve got a problem.”

 _Yeah, ‘cos you’ve got it easy,_ he thinks to himself, _you weren’t born into a dysfunctional mess of a family._

It’s when he’s waiting for Stuart out by the pitch again, the sun starting to set, that he realises he can’t ever tell Simon about this. As much as he would like to, Simon would never get it.

He breathes in shakily when he sees him trudging to meet him, umbrella in hand.

+

The buzzing of the apartment intercom isn’t incessant, but it is more frequent than necessary.

Ben smooths out his shirt once more. So, Kieran’s half an hour early. But Ben hasn’t done this, _dating,_ in so long that he’s been ready for at least double that time.

A quick spritz and a smile that _will_ get him laid and he’s heading downstairs to answer the main door.

“Someone’s eager.” His smirk drops.

Ah.

So it’s not Kieran.

The rain has reduced to smatterings of water but it’s clear he walked here when it was in full swing.

Droplets balance on the ends of his hair, which is plastered to his forehead. His nose is red from the cold and his harsh breaths make themselves known through mist leaving his mouth. _Stop staring at his mouth._ His eyelashes are wet too, but not from the rain. Some tears trail down his cheeks and Ben’s fingers twitch in an attempt to convince him to wipe them away.

Lightning strikes, illuminating him, and Ben sees a much more turbulent storm where his eyes are. Frantically, they search Ben’s face and then, in defeat, they close.

He bites his lip to stop it from trembling but it’s futile. His entire body is shaking from the cold and if Ben wasn’t so confused, he would have invited him inside in an instant.

It’s silent, aside from the residual rain hitting the roof and pavement, until he breaks it.

“I’m sorry.” His voice is hoarse. “I’m so sorry, I just,” he takes a deep breath to steady himself, “I didn’t know where else to go.”

And Ben watches him collapse from the inside.

His eyes fly open and more tears are streaming and he’s looking at the sky, and at his feet and anywhere that isn’t Ben because, when he gets rejected, he doesn’t want to have to look him in his face this time either.

Ben just opens the door fully and steps forward. Not altogether outside but a few drops of rain hit his forehead.

When he brings his fingers to move Callum’s hair from where it’s clinging to his brow, it’s tentative and gentle and everything Callum needs to quieten the chaos in his head.

His eyes, still overflowing with tears, fix on the ground beneath him as he exhales.

“I didn’t know where else to go.” It’s whispered.

His shoulders start to shudder, and it’s not violent, but it hurts Ben all the same.

He wraps his arms around them and lets Callum fall into him and bury his face in his neck.

Rasping sobs press themselves into Ben’s skin.

Ben focuses solely on the sound of Callum’s strangled _sorrys_ over and over and if he had it in him to not be so utterly hypnotised by the movement of Callum’s lips against his throat, he would look him in the eye and tell him there’s nothing to be sorry for.

Callum sobs desperately with his arms limp against Ben’s body.

Ben holds him up as the rain slows to a halt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maybe one day i'll be able to write a chapter without stuffing it with dialogue but not today!  
> thank you for reading this mess and thank you for the kudos and the lovely comments :) stay safe x


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the kudos and comments, they really do mean the world :)

Ben pads from his bedroom to the kitchen, which means crossing through the living room.

It’s a small, unimpressive flat that he’s only decorated for Lexi’s sake. The walls are grey and the floor is paved with wooden panels. He’s glad he’s never been sensitive to the cold because the window overlooking the street is always slightly ajar - it broke a month ago and Ben’s not quite gotten round to fixing it. Unlike most mornings, the street outside is still, but car fumes and cigarette smoke continue to waft their way inside.

It should be annoying but it reminds Ben that there is a world out there. Otherwise, the flat feels lonely. Most days, it barely looks lived in, and that would be the case today too if it weren’t for the tall man curled on his sofa.

It’s too small for Callum’s frame, and his feet hang off the arm of it. On the other end, his head is tucked into his chest and the throw on him doesn’t look like it’s doing much to protect him from the draught.

After letting him sob on his shoulder, Ben convinced him to get some kip, promising him that it would be better in the morning. He’d found some shorts and a hoodie two sizes too big for him, courtesy of Kathy, and left the room to let him peel off his wet clothes.

When Ben was sure he was asleep, he’d gotten a second blanket for him just in case, but Callum’s a restless sleeper, and the navy material had fallen onto the floor sometime in the night.

Ben goes to pick it up now, puts it over Callum, and turns to the kitchen door to avoid becoming the weirdo who watches his ex-boyfriend sleep.

The kitchen has two doors, one that opens from the hallway, and the other that opens from the living room. But the door that would be less invasive to use has rusting hinges that make it creak, and Ben’s sure that would be more disruptive than his footsteps.

The window in the kitchen is much bigger than the one in the living room, which is a design flaw Ben’s too uninterested to pick up on, and it allows the morning sun to seep in and fill his cramped cooking space with light. There’s pots and pans in cupboards and only the bare minimum when it comes to cutlery.

He’s suddenly grateful that Ian bought him dinnerware for his birthday, although he’s pretty sure it was only the spares from his restaurant that he was too stingy to give away to anyone that wasn’t family.

He wonders if Callum prefers eggs or bacon. _He’s serving Callum breakfast._ The idea is insane to him.

Adamant to just get on with it, else the absurdity of it all would probably cause some kind of aneurysm, he crosses to the stovetop and brings out the only saucepan that isn’t slightly loose at the handle.

_You’ve gotta repair these things as you go._ His mum had said, scrutinizing a dodgy door handle he’s since replaced, _Or you’ll end up in a place with more broken things than working ones._

Of course, there was a time he did care about the state of where he lived, making sure everything was in perfect order, looking its best.

But ever since he moved here, slightly forlorn but mostly exhausted with the life he’d chosen for himself, he’d not found it in him to make this crumbling flat any more welcoming.

It felt accurate - rooms slowly falling apart around him while he was falling apart on the inside.

Now, he wishes he’d made more of an effort. It’s not that it’s untidy, or moulding, but it looks neglected. He hopes Callum won’t judge him.

The smell of bacon wakes Callum up. There’s also some clattering coming from behind a door. He sits up, unsettled and bleary eyed. Wraps the navy blanket around himself as he takes in his surroundings.

A breeze must fly in through the window on the right of him because he goes cold all over. The events of last night leer at him and he wants to dig a hole and bury himself in it. _Simon. Stuart. Ben._

Crossing his legs and draping both blankets over him, Callum looks around at the room he's in to avoid any other thoughts, so he doesn’t melt into tears or fight someone.

It’s not the biggest living room, certainly not as big as his and Simon’s, but he supposes one man doesn’t need that much space.

There’s art framed on the wall behind him, all red and blue and abstract, above the sofa. Near the open window, a table, wooden like the floors, has a half empty fruit bowl and some coasters on top. The rest of the room is mostly bare, apart from the TV the sofa is facing, and a painting of a tree starting at the skirting board and ending the same height as the handle of what looks like the kitchen door. About the height of a little girl.

He smiles at the thought of Ben and Lexi kneeling by the wall to paint a tree. Ben’s not exactly the artistic type. Before yesterday, all he knew about Lexi was that she was Ben’s pride and joy, and although he talked about her any chance he got, there was never an indication that they’d ever meet.

It surprised him how similar she was to Ben. She had, once she stopped crying, reminded everybody that she was the reason her football team was winning. Callum almost laughed.

Despite her sprained ankle, she had her priorities in a whole different order.

Doing his best to stay silent, he gets up and walks to the painting, tracing the branches with his fingers. After a while, he edges his way to the door leading to the hallway. He sticks his head out and it’s as unexciting as the living room but, in some way, it’s calming.

It’s so different to his place with Simon, which is full to the brim with ornaments and canvases and unnecessary throw pillows, proving a point Callum’s not sure he wants to make. It’s decorated so overtly that there may as well be a sign in front of their house saying _look, we’re so in love and all these embellishments prove it._ He doesn’t dwell on the fact that it’s more Simon’s embellishments than his own.

He goes back into the living room, crossing over to the other end to reach the smell of the bacon. He opens the kitchen door just as Ben is plating it.

It’s weirdly domestic, watching him move the slices around with his fingers to make sure it doesn’t touch the yolk of the fried eggs, retracting his hands with an _ouch_ because it’s fresh from the pan and obviously hot to the touch. He’s turned away from Callum, but he can guess that there’s an intense look on his face, the one he used to get when bluffing during poker, all the while knowing that Callum would have made sure he won anyway.

_No time for those memories now._

He snaps himself out of it. Then immediately stops himself from appreciating what Ben looks like in grey jogging bottoms. Ben chooses this moment to turn around, plates in hand, and smiles at Callum in the friendly way you would at a stranger in the street.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does.

“Alright?” It’s masked as a greeting, but they can both sense the real question behind it.

Callum looks down and plays with the hem of his hoodie instead of answering and steps to the side to let him through to the lounge.

Ben sets the plates on the small table he never uses. Usually, he hurries through breakfast while looking for his keys, or he gorges himself on a takeaway in front of the telly, but there’s no need for Callum to know that.

Callum sits opposite the window, light hitting him, and he looks tired. He looks fit too, but Ben focuses on the fact that his shoulders are drooping, his gaze is on the floor, and his features are limp.

Ben sits beside him, staring straight ahead out the window, seeing a car cough its way past.

Callum pushes the food around with his fork, recognising the plates as the same ones in his restaurant, and isn’t sure if it’s a coincidence or some weird cosmic joke he doesn’t understand.

“Hey,” and Callum’s taken aback by how soft he sounds, “eat.”

Sounds of knives and forks scraping echo in the room until he looks up at Ben, who’s halfway through a bite and desperately hoping he doesn’t look as unglamorous as he thinks he does, and smiles, “Thank you.”

It occurs to Ben that this is the first time they’ve ever done this. Eaten homemade food together. Sure, Callum talked about cooking, but he was moving from one hotel room to another back then, and never had time for it. He’s sure neither of them pictured this as their first home cooked meal. Not that he’s ever pictured it.

They eat the remainder in silence, Ben’s mind spinning with questions, and Callum’s wracked with guilt.

After throwing the plates in the sink, Ben treads back to the room carefully, as if any noise will startle Callum and he’ll run out. He’s back on the sofa, blankets on his lap, and he makes a mental note of the fact that Callum still gets cold easily.

“I guess I got some explaining to do.” He doesn’t look at Ben when he speaks. He rubs his hand over his face, letting out a dry laugh. “I don’t even know where to begin.”

Ben doesn’t say anything, simply settles himself on the other end of the sofa and waits.

He toys with the blanket. “That guy, at the football match? Stuart? He weren’t the one bothering me. Well, not in the way you think, anyway.” Callum takes a deep breath. “He’s my brother.”

There’s a pause, and Ben’s more confused than he was before, but he lets Callum fill in the gaps.

“He’s in some trouble. I was trying to help but now it’s worse.” His mouth contorts into a frown and he lifts his head up to stare at the ceiling. “So much worse.”

Ben’s no stranger to demanding family members and the expectation of dropping everything to help them, and the way Callum’s blankly following the patterns on the light fixture, he can tell that the expectation is just as unyielding for him too.

It looks like he’s not going to say anymore so Ben, after some contemplation, decides to ask.

“Trouble?” He hopes it’s not too intrusive.

Callum turns to gaze at him, inspects the face looking back, finds something that urges him to nod.

Only a few days ago, looking at Ben meant reliving the last two years and all the painful emotions that came with them, but now it’s familiar, and familiar puts him at ease. Something he’s not getting from Stuart or his flat with Simon.

“Money. Fella called Aidan. He, uh, wanted my help to pay it back but apparently it weren’t enough and, besides, Stuart was meant to cough up ages ago. Something about too little too late.” He swallows, looking away. “And now they’ve doubled what they want.”

“Is that why you were working with Tubbs? To help Stuart with the money?” He thinks he should explain why he knows Tubbs was involved in the first place, but Callum doesn’t seem to care.

His lip trembles, “Only one job.” He glances at Ben for a millisecond, screwing his face up as if his words are going to hurt him. “I told him about Simon’s family owning hotels. That we were considering throwing a party so the guests would be downstairs and he had plenty of time to…” He trails off, holding his breath, waiting for Ben to judge him.

Ben vaguely remembers Tubbs mentioning an inside man when they went to do the job.

Oh.

It’s not like the Callum he knows, and when he's brought out of his shock to look at him, the guilt shrouding the features on his face confirms that.

He knows what it's like. God knows how much he’s done to clean up his dad’s messes.

“I was there.” Callum doesn’t react to that. “With Tubbs, helped him with…anyway, the hotel insurance covered it, I checked.” He tries to lighten the mood, but Callum presses his lips tighter together, and Ben’s wishing he knew what to do.

“Ain’t the point, though. I took advantage of Simon, his family business, our _engagement_.” At the last word, he drops his head into his hands. “I’m awful.”

“No, you ain’t.” Ben wants to do something, _anything_ to help, considers putting an arm around him, but the mention of his engagement is a stark reminder of why he cannot let himself get any closer to Callum. He’s already far too close and any more might just break him.

He watches him bury his face into his palms. “You ain’t awful.” He repeats, hoping Callum believes it.

He doesn’t. Behind his hands, he squeezes his eyes shut further, in an attempt to stop himself from crying. For the second time. In front of Ben. His ex. On his sofa. In his hoodie. _Shit_ , this is embarrassing.

“I’m sorry. For coming here.”

Ben’s chest aches at seeing him look so small. He wants to tell him he gets it, tell him all about Phil, but there’s that voice again, reminding him that what he wants to do is not what he should do.

Instead, he says, “Don’t apologise. I’m glad you came here.”

It’s somehow worse than opening up about his dad. Probably because it’s the most honest thing he could say.

Callum knows it too. He keeps his head in his hands, scared to look up, scared he’ll see something in his expression, something that’s more than what he’s saying.

They both feel the inference of Ben’s sentence weighing down on them, making the air in the small living room thicker, so Ben desperately looks for something else to say.

“What are you gonna do?”

Callum shrugs. “Get the money somehow. Fast.” He’s about two seconds away from begging for his help, but his brain runs a reel of all the reasons that’s a bad idea, and he keeps quiet.

But Ben hears the pleading in his voice, the defeat etched onto his face, and he thinks about how much better it would have been if he had someone to help him navigate through the murky waters of being Phil Mitchell’s son.

He tells himself he’ll think it over, but even he knew the moment he opened the door to Callum last night, he’d help with anything in a heartbeat.

“Look, it’s just money, okay? You just owe him a bit more cash, right?” Callum shifts to the side, looking down, hums what Ben takes to be a yes. “There’s a café in Walford. Kathy’s. Come, during lunchtime or whatever, I’ve got an idea.”

It’s that same glint in his eye that Callum recognises from the first time Ben ever suggested fixing card games at the casino he worked at. It was scary before, and it’s still worrying now, but it also gives him some comfort. It’s that familiarity again, and he almost passes out from gratitude once he’s out of Ben’s flat, agreeing on a time even though he’ll only be able to stay for a couple of minutes.

It helps alleviate the dread of what he’s got to face.

+

He silences his phone after Ian’s left his _fourth_ voicemail. It’s ranting about whatever meeting he’s missed, and honestly, he couldn’t care less.

He readies himself, and then opens the door.

Simon stands from where he was sitting on the couch, and he breathes out in relief at the sight of Callum, causing him to squirm with guilt.

He carries a lot of guilt around with him these days.

“Where have you been all night?” It’s angry, but it’s also concerned, and Callum adds it to the ever growing list of reasons he’s a bad fiancé.

“Helping Stuart.” It’s not a complete lie, and it’s a better way of saying he spent the night at his ex’s.

Simon sighs, falls back onto the couch. “Of course. That his hoodie, is it? Big enough to be.” There’s no humour in his tone.

Callum rounds to him, kneels in front. “He’s my _brother_ , Si.”

“So what? He gets to walk all over you?”

They’ve had this argument a million times over, granted it’s a bit more serious now, marred with lies and secrets, but this has happened before.

Stuart turns up, out of the blue, invades the world Callum’s built for himself, does something to repel Simon further, and vanishes.

And, every time, Callum’s forgiving nature means the cycle repeats. Is it toxic? Undoubtedly.

But this is the Stuart who put himself in between his drunk dad and a scrawny Callum. The Stuart who would pack a bag to run away but stay for the sake of his little brother. The Stuart who let everything that was wrong with Jonno pore into him, so that Callum could be as far away from that world as possible.

It’s ironic, because Callum feels like he’s in the middle of that world right now.

And he’s tried to explain it to Simon, but for someone as untainted as he is, as far removed from the wounds that come with a family like the Highways, he can’t begin to understand why Stuart’s problems are Callum’s job to clean up.

He doesn’t bother trying to explain it this time.

Instead, he goes for a different approach. “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. And you’re right, I shouldn’t let him walk all over me.”

Simon’s eyes soften. He sits forward and brings his hands up to Callum’s shoulders. “I just see the way he treats you, and I don’t like it. He’s no good for you.” Callum feels patronised, but he gets why Simon thinks the way he does, even if he isn’t afforded the same understanding.

“I know, I know he ain’t.” He looks up at Simon. He doesn’t want to lie to him, and it twists at the nerves in his chest. He sighs, looks away because Simon’s so earnest in his gaze, “I don’t wanna see him no more. I dunno if he’ll get the message but I’m gonna tell him. I want him out my life.”

That seems to make Simon happy, and he kisses his cheek, “Good.”

The conversation solidifies that he’s the worst person in the world.

He listens to Ian’s voicemails to distract himself, something along the lines of how important the new menu is, and that he should come over to his other restaurant so they can talk about it.

He changes out of his hoodie and shorts. Well, not _his_ hoodie or shorts. Simon compliments him on his shirt when he walks out.

+

Ben drums his fingers on the café table, hidden from most customers because he’s sat at the back by the window. He observes the people coming and going with boredom. He’s been here a while and he’s crafted a plan.

Since Operation Getting-over-Callum-although-he-is-over-him failed so tremendously at the first hurdle; he’s got a new set of rules.

One of them is to stop lying to himself. He’s already had enough fun with that because of the whole gay thing, and he’s not exactly trying to go back to how he was. If anyone else asks, he’ll deny it vehemently, but he is not over Callum.

He doesn’t know why. Why it’s him who wormed himself under his skin two years ago and hasn’t budged since, but he’s tried talking his heart out of it and it hasn’t worked.

He’s also decided that, if he’s going to help Callum, he needs to remember his boundaries. The man is engaged and, more importantly, happy. And that’s something he could never be with Ben, so he can’t let anything, especially not his feelings, get in their way.

Distance. That’s step one. And he can do that. Callum’s got work so it’s only about five minutes now. And they don’t need to be joined at the hip for him to help with the money thing.

Callum walks into the café wearing a shirt that fits him very well, spots Ben sitting at the back and curves his mouth into a lopsided smile.

His heart soars immediately, and he damns his body for making step one so difficult, but he sticks to it. He nods and leans back casually.

Callum’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What’s this?” His gaze fixed on the pack of cards placed on the centre of the table.

“My idea. We can make some quick cash, we used to do it before all the time.”

“Right.” He draws out the word as he sits himself down, heartbeat faltering at the indifferent way Ben speaks about what they used to do. Who they used to be.

He’s got no way of knowing that the words scratch in Ben’s throat when he says them.

“Go on then,” Callum looks up questioningly, to which Ben tilts his head, crossing his arms, “What do you remember?”

Callum squints, disliking the idea, but Ben’s got a point. It is quick cash and, conversation with Stuart last night ringing in his ear, he knows he’s desperate.

Ben’s eyes shine when he looks down at the cards, examining them.

“Okay.” He picks up the cards, riffs through them, and starts shuffling them face down. His eyes stay on Ben the whole time.

It reminds him of the first time they met. The confident, cute, casino dealer under the glittering lights behind a poker table.

It feels like they’re back there now.

The sounds of coffee machines and the smell of English breakfasts mix and dissolve and it’s like they’re on opposite ends of a velvet covered games table, watching each other under chandeliers rather than shifty light bulbs.

He’s still shuffling them, messily, and looks Ben up and down. “Tell me a card.”

There’s a small smile on his face.

Ben thinks about it.

“Three of hearts.”

He stares at Callum’s hands in concentration. _It’s the first thing you learn when you’re doing card tricks,_ he’d told him after days of being pestered, _you do the magic with your hands but make your audience focus on everything else._

He’s confused. This isn’t a trick he’s seen before.

And what he’s doing appears simple enough. His eyes follow as he continues to rearrange them carelessly, no sleight of the hand anywhere, as far as he can tell.

Besides, it’s hard to keep his attention on his hands when Callum’s fixed him with a smirk, and _yeah,_ it’s exactly like it was two years ago.

Sounds of coins hitting metal get louder, and he knows it’s the till, but it feels like someone’s won a craps game. There’s excited chatter, other customers, sounds like someone’s lucked out in roulette. He’s smells high end cologne and champagne and the geranium scent of the casino he first met Callum in.

Callum quirks an eyebrow.

Ben looks away.

He’s stopped flipping through the deck and cuts it into two piles.

He sets the top card from the second pile in front of Ben. It’s the three of hearts.

His lips press together, so he won’t see his grin. “All right. Someone’s been practising.”

Callum smiles shyly and shrugs, “Just a hobby.”

“What? Simon ain’t keeping your hands busy?” Callum looks to the side exasperated, shaking his head, but he’s slightly amused.

This is good. If Ben keeps this up, he’ll convince the two of them that he’s over him.

“Oh wait.” Callum rifles through the backpack he brought. “Here.”

“Nah, keep it, it’s too big for me anyways. Me mum bought it,” He rolls his eyes, “This is her caff actually.”

Callum glances about the place, which is getting livelier as lunchtime rolls around. “Business seems to be doing well.”

“Yeah,” Ben huffs, “That’s my family for you. Good at businesses. Don’t fleece us though.” He winks at Callum, holding his breath to gauge his reaction. Thankfully, he just shakes his head again.

“So, you run a business too, then?”

“Car lot, down the road. What about you mate?” Maybe if he says _mate,_ every morning in front of a mirror, Ben’ll actually fall for it.

“I’m a chef, near Central.” He spots Ben biting back a smile and knows why.

He said he’d be a good chef in his letter. The letter that ruined them. And he doesn’t want to let him think it was because he said so. He wants to tell him he was planning on being one anyway.

But he can’t tell him that. It would mean giving too much away. Just the fact that he remembers what he said may as well be admitting he could recite the whole thing with his eyes closed.

So, he avoids looking at what he thinks is a smug smile, and looks at the poster next to his head.

“What’s the plan then? Go Leicester Square, do some street magic?”

Ben laughs. “Think we can do better than that.” He leans forward and lowers his voice, “I’ll tell Tubbs to scout for casino dealers looking for cover. You know, odd shift or two. I reckon if we get really stupid punters, we’ll have plenty of money for Stuart.”

He sees the anxiety holding Callum’s face bleeds out. Tries not to let his heart flip.

“Lifesaver. Literally.” He misses how Callum’s eyes widen as he realises what he’s said because Jay walks in and spots him straight away. His eye line darts from Ben to Callum and he raises his eyebrows in disbelief.

Callum’s phone begins ringing. He looks up apologetically. “My boss, I gotta go.”

“Okay, I’ll let you know when Tubbs gives me details.”

He nods, smiling gratefully, and gets up. “Wait, I need your number.”

He knows why he’s asking, and it’s logical to give it, but seeing his name on his phone after deleting it a year and a half ago, it does something that means his fingers shake as he clicks the _Save Contact_ button.

He watches him walk away and wonders if he’ll ever be able to do so without a clenching in his chest.

Jay plops himself down where Callum was sat. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes at him.

Ben sighs in response. “What?”

“I just seen you with your ex!” Ben mentally prepares himself, as Jay goes off on one, pointing his finger at Ben to accentuate the fact that “This is gonna end in tears for you!” He blocks out the rest.

+

Callum’s not enjoying himself either. Walford East is almost identical to the restaurant Ian’s got him stationed at, except it’s smaller, and you can see the kitchen through an opening behind the bar. Everything else, the booths, the tables, the floors, and the colour scheme; he might as well be having the meeting in Central London.

Ian drones on, “I want to modernise it.”

“It _is_ modern. Sales are way better ever since we switched the menu a couple weeks back.”

“Okay but we need a signature. Something that…” He taps his chin in thought, before a grin spreads over his features, “When people bite into it, I want them to say, _wow_ this tastes like Ian Beale.”

Callum tries not to cringe, doesn’t think too hard about what tasting like Ian Beale entails, and instead clears his throat. “Okay. Yep. I think I’ve got some ideas.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“I’d rather make them, Ian, you can taste them yourself, and it will be a way better process to work out what our signature is.”

The confidence in his attitude and the promise of food seems to placate Ian, and he finally lets him go.

He checks his phone, his brother blowing it up with texts reminding him how high the stakes are. It’s one overbearing balding man after the other. He brings the mobile to his ear, and then holds it at a small distance when Stuart starts rambling.

“Stu, just _listen_ , will ya? I’ve got a plan to get some money.”

Ben’s rounding the street to get to the car lot and hears Callum’s voice travelling down the alley. “It don’t matter how I’m getting it. Trust me, Stu. I’ve got a mate.” There’s a pause. “Yeah I trust him.”

Something warm flutters in Ben’s gut.

Suddenly, Callum’s voice gets higher. “What? When? Stu!” Another pause. “I’m coming with you.” It sounds determined. “You’re not going to go see Aidan on your own.”

He walks straight into him. Callum hastily turns his phone off, looking caught out.

“You’re gonna see Aidan?”

He looks like he’s going to deny it, but, after a second, he slumps his shoulders in defeat.

“I have to,” he sighs, “Stuart might say, or do, something stupid.”

“Okay.” He nods, car lot in view. “We can take the black one.”

Callum’s brows crease. He turns and sees a Sedan, flashing as Ben clicks a button on the key in his palm. “You don’t havta come.”

“Callum.” It’s all he says. But Callum can tell by his voice that any disagreement will be a losing battle.

“Can I drive?” He tries as they reach it.

Ben scoffs, shaking his head, “No chance.”

+

It’s a specific stench, something between dust coated curtains and general old building smell, that hits Callum as he squeezes himself into a deteriorating confessional booth. The screen separating the two ends is broken, giving Ben enough space to stand too.

Ben reaches over him to close the door. His hands stutter as he does so because step one of the new plan isn’t going so well. He can see Callum’s chest rise and fall unsteadily, hell he’d be able to feel it if he were a step closer.

Callum looks at him, tense. His lips part and for a stupid second Ben wants to lean in, but then he whispers, “What if he sees us?”

“Then you can have a drive round in the Sedan.”

The side of his mouth twitches into a half smile, and he wipes his hands on his jeans.

A rickety door opens, screeching against the tiled floor, catching their attention. Ben peers through the crack he left at the door to see a man with a cane walk carefully to the middle of the sanctuary where Stuart is standing, agitated.

He stops a few steps away from him, and grins. “It’s a nice chapel, isn’t it? Dilapidated, but there’s something beautiful about it being so…” He looks him up and down, “Broken.”

Stuart lunges forward, grabbing him by the lapels of his black coat. “Stop playing with me, Maguire.”

He chuckles, pushing him back with relative ease, and brushes himself off. He adjusts the hat on him, tufts of silver hair peeking through. “Now, now. Let’s be civil about this.” He clenches his jaw and looks at him with a sudden seriousness. “My money.”

Stuart flinches at the word. “It’s coming.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

“When?”

“I don’t know! But soon.”

Aidan tuts, “Come on, I thought you would have been faster.” He smirks, “Considering what’s at stake.”

Ben looks at Callum and mutters a “What?”

Callum doesn’t respond.

So he tries again, “What does he mean? What’s at stake?”

He catches the hitch in Callum’s breath when he shrugs. _I don’t know_ , he mouths. Ben can tell he’s lying.

Stuart’s fists shake by his side. “Don’t.”

Aidan chuckles again, the sound rippling to where Ben and Callum are hiding, hunched over and stock still with only a feather’s width between them.

“I’d have thought it was the boost you needed to get me what I’m owed. But if it’s not enough,” He steps forward, cane clacking, “I don’t do empty threats. I will take her.”

“Don’t you dare.” He spits out.

“Who? What’s going on?” Ben’s whispers are furious in Callum’s ears. “Callum?”

Ben’s breath on the side of his face, murmuring his name, dangerously close to his neck, and Callum shivers, becoming unbalanced and stumbling. He brings his arms in front of him on reflex.

The door of the booth pushes forward, only a bit, but the scraping echoes through the abandoned chapel.

The sound of footsteps and a cane get louder. He gulps.

Aidan opens the door with a delighted expression. “Well, well, well. Not to be cliché, but what do we have here?”

Stuart stutters out something out but Aidan’s not listening.

He brings out a gun, points it between Callum’s eyes.

“Are you taking me for a fool, Stuart?” He seethes.

Again, Stuart stumbles over his words.

Ben’s not worried. Yes, his heart is going a million miles an hour because there’s a _gun_ inches from Callum’s face. But he’s dealt with people like Aidan before, and the way his eyes are skimming over the two of them, he can tell he doesn’t think they’re a threat.

Nevertheless, this seems to entertain him, and he cocks the gun. It’s a meaningless action, but his previous statement _I don’t do empty threats_ must run through Stuart’s mind because he wrestles him from behind.

Ben thinks Callum’s brother must be an idiot.

All of a sudden, there’s a loud sound.

Ben’s knocked backwards by it. He sees his arms flail.

Something to grip. He needs that. Something. To hold on to.

The splinters on the very door that got them in this mess dig into his palms. He doesn’t know why he’s grasping onto it so tightly.

Aidan says something about _money_ and _deadlines_ and _soon_ and Ben hears the sound of his cane decline.

Callum.

Is he okay?

He looks worried. Did he get hurt? His annoying brother? Ben’s head snaps between the two of them.

The movement is dizzying. He feels his vision disintegrate into stars and dots and his eyelids are shutting.

There’s something wet. Side of his leg. Thigh maybe.

It’s hard to breathe.

Chest constricting.

Ben tries to say something.

Lets go of the door.

“Ben!” Callum runs to catch him.

Then he coughs, a piercing, painful, guttural cough, and Callum stares at the blood running down his leg in horror.

“Ben? Ben! Talk to me, please.” He’s bordering on crying; he can tell by the way his voice is breaking.

He gasps out his words, “The Sedan. Don’t scratch it.” Callum’s heart is in his lungs as he watches his eyes rolling back. He swallows, head lolling, as he plasters a smile on his face, “Keys in my back pocket. No funny business.”

It’s like Lexi and her ankle, despite everything, his priorities are in a different order.

His hands shake as he struggles to hold him. “You’re gonna be just fine.” His voice wavers. “I’m gonna get you out of here. You just,” and Callum’s voice is fading now, “stay with me, yeah?”

_Stay with me._

He would. Forever. Always.

It’s the last thing he thinks as his vision blacks out, going limp in Callum’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i really thought i'd be done with this by the Ballum SFTS episode but i won't be, thanks for reading & feel free to criticise xxx


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gets a tad bit sexy near the end (but only a bit!) but i've marked it with a ** if it makes you uncomfortable :)   
> thanks for reading and kudosing and commenting, means the world xx

Black.

Flashes of colour.

Black.

Callum’s face.

Is he crying?

He shouldn’t be crying.

Black.

Stuart’s eyes leaping out his sockets.

Ben’s rolling to the back of his head.

+

Callum’s chest tightens even though Ben’s the one who’s been shot.

_Oh my God, Ben’s been shot._

His arms clutch Ben’s torso, whole body juddering and frenzied with panic so much so that Ben’s jerking in his grip, not that he reacts to it.

“Why’s he not moving? Not saying anything?” Callum’s cries echo off every wall of the abandoned chapel, pinging and fading as the question remains unanswered.

Stuart’s rambling about something, and the ground isn’t sturdy all of a sudden, and he can’t remember his legs giving way beneath him, but he’s on the floor now, ankles scraping on a piece of broken tile.

Ben’s still not responding.

You’re supposed to apply pressure on the wound, right? At least that’s what he’s seen in the movies. He tugs his jacket off and wraps it around Ben’s thigh, but his vision is blurred with tears he didn’t realise had formed, and he can’t tell if it’s working.

“C’mon, Ben.” He can’t lose him. Not now. Not like this. “C’mon, Ben!”

He mutters it over and over and over like a prayer, hoping for some God to awaken and perform a miracle. They are in a church after all.

The thrumming of his heart thumps too loud for him to hear anything else.

Or anyone else. Stuart takes matters into his own hands, moving around them and saying something that sounds like paramedic. Ben’s begun to choke on his breath, though, so forgive him for being blind and deaf to the rest of the world.

More rasping from Ben that bounces straight into Callum, who considers ripping his lungs out to give to him.

He doesn’t even remember how they got into the car, hugging Ben’s upper body like he’ll waste away if he doesn’t, letting Stuart manoeuvre them so that Ben’s laying across the back seat.

He keeps one hand compressing the wound, the other on the back of his neck, brushing his hand in his hair.

He used to like when he played with his hair, didn’t he? Or maybe he just pretended to, because he knew Callum liked to play with it.

He desperately hopes it’s not too late to find out.

He doesn’t even consider the alternative, terror seizing his bones at the mention of it. Everything except the hand on Ben’s leg freezes, paralysed by a fear he doesn’t dare say out loud.

It’s just his luck, isn’t it? The only guy he’s ever fallen for, before Simon that is, finally comes back into his life and Callum leads him to a death sentence.

Ben’s head lurches when Stuart takes a sharp right turn, face burying into Callum’s chest because of it. Callum’s hand holds it in place, hoping the erratic beating of his heart might jolt him awake. He drops his own head down, smells Ben’s hair involuntarily, and it’s _him_.

Musky and subtle and Ben.

He can’t lose that.

His name keeps tumbling out of his lips, bursting through whether it means to or not, and it could be because Callum thinks it will help, or it could be because he’s missed the way it feels in his mouth.

His hand stays threaded in his hair as if Callum believes his touch is keeping him alive. Maybe it is.

There’s a relentless burning washing over Ben.

He squints to make out the vague outline of a person.

It’s Simon.

If he’s died and gone to hell, it makes sense for his demons to look like the guy marrying the one person he thinks he could be happy with.

Stuart’s also there, or at least some bald, round figure at the end of the bed, gulping down a can of lager.

He can’t move, the searing pain overpowering him, and Simon and Stuart are coming in and out of focus and smearing into each other like a two headed creature spawned from Ben’s nightmares and _yep_ , he’s definitely in hell.

A rush of something intense floods his limb.

He passes out again.

Callum hurtles in, bucket of soapy water spilling over the sides, and thrusts a cloth into Simon’s hands.

“What else do we need?”

“Bandages.” Simon focuses on his thigh, using a pair of scissors to cut where the blood is seeping out.

It’s a perpetual flow of light and dark red, streaking and staining everything as it pulses out of the gash, and the swamp of scarlet brings bile to Callum’s throat but he turns to their medicine cabinet. This is no time to be squeamish. He grabs three bottles of painkillers just in case.

When he re-enters, Ben’s coughing his lungs out, rising on the guest bed with the action.

He’s there in an instant, kneeling by him, hands finding the sides of his head.

The jars of medicine roll on the carpet and stop underneath the bed.

“Ben? Ben, can you hear me?”

He can’t make out the sounds, but the pounding in his head soothes for some reason, and he strains to open his eyes.

Callum’s mouth goes dry and his eyes glisten with tears as Ben grits his teeth, perspiration forming and making his hair stick to his forehead.

His hands move to brush the sweat slicked tufts back.

He’s not sure why Simon’s movements slow for a second.

A scalding stretches to the entire left side of Ben, forcing out a strangled gasp.

It’s shooting up and down his leg, arm, stomach, and it’s stopping by his chest and making it difficult for him to breathe.

_Breathe._

That’s someone’s voice.

He peers at Simon, who’s stooped over and there’s something that he keeps putting to his thigh. He was certain it was white but maybe it’s been red all along.

_Breathe, Ben._

It’s not Simon.

Stuart’s motionless on the end of the bed, like some ugly gargoyle watching over him, waiting for him to die.

It’s not him.

_Deep breaths. Come on._

Perhaps it’s in his head. His subconscious going into survival mode and telling him what to do.

He inhales as much as his lungs will let him, the oxygen blazing through his body, setting his insides on fire. He bites back a scream.

_Breathe._

He tries again. It’s excruciating but it’s working.

His vision starts to clear up.

Simon’s got a bloodied cloth in his hand.

It’s his blood.

He can’t look at that, he’ll be sick. His tonsils scrape with the cries he’s suppressing and where’s that voice because it would be really helpful right about now.

As if answering his plea, something familiar surrounds his wrist.

“His pulse is still really high.” Voice wavering, but honestly, he’s surprised he can say anything at all.

With the hand still clutching the side of his face, Callum turns him so they’re facing each other.

“Ben?” He taps his temple with his thumb. Gentle at first but Ben doesn’t even mumble in acknowledgement so he starts running his other fingers through the short hairs behind his ear.

Ben inches his eyelids apart. Everything’s still confusing, there’s a flurry of white and purple mixing together and it’s difficult to pay attention.

His eyes meet blue.

It’s the only thing in focus.

It’s the only thing that needs to be.

_Can you hear me?_

A groaning yes fights its way out.

_I need you to take deep breaths, Ben._

He’s already tried that. But he’ll try again. He puffs out a breath, and then heaves one in.

“That’s it, keep going.” 

Ben struggles to even his breaths, and Callum tightens his grasp around his wrist without meaning to.

He whips his head towards Simon, sounding borderline hysterical, “His pulse ain’t getting any slower.”

“Just keep talking to him.”

The fuzzing trickles out from the corners of Ben’s vision, and he can properly see Simon. He believes, at some angles, him and Simon might be mistaken for each other.

Callum’s talking. It’s hard to make out – he’s too fast, too frantic.

He doesn’t want to worry him, so he carries on forcing air in and out his lungs. In and out. In. and. Out.

He’s using all his strength to steady his breathing until something stabs at his left thigh, the fuzzing flooding back, and he yells.

Someone else is shouting too.

“You gotta be careful!”

Simon murmurs a million apologies for pressing so hard. Then he inspects the wound he’s cleaned, winces, and draws his eyebrows together to fix Callum with a seriousness usually reserved for work.

“He’s going to need stitches.”

A flurry of words that Stuart’s never heard in that context spill out of Ben before he passes out from the pain.

Callum prays he doesn’t remember it.

He wakes up to orange coating the inside of a room he doesn’t recognise. It’s sunrise. There’s a constant stinging in his side, and his laboured breaths fill his ears as he sits up.

It’s a soft bed, even if the duvet has an abhorrent pattern. It’s got bright purple flowers that match the colour on the feature wall opposite him. Ben’s pretty confident no guest bedroom requires a feature wall, unless they’re purposely trying to prevent people from staying over.

There’re jars of pain tablets on the bedside table.

The room stands still around Ben for a moment, and the orange surrounding him dazes him, or maybe it’s the aftereffects of losing a lot of blood.

The doorknob turns, and Callum’s on the other side, holding a glass of water.

His body perks up in response to Ben’s moving about.

“How are you feeling?” He whispers it, not disturbing the hazy quiet of the room, crouching by the bedside table. “Does it hurt?”

 _Like a son of a bitch._ “Stings a bit, but it beats bleeding to death.”

“So you remember what happened?”

“Barely,” he admits, “but I remember a lot of blood.”

He lifts the sheet and there’s bandages all around his left thigh, and he runs a finger along them. Then he presses his finger to where it burns the most and hisses. Idiot. _Obviously,_ it would hurt.

Callum passes him the tablets and the glass of water. Doesn’t stare when drops linger on Ben’s lips.

“Simon says it just grazed your thigh, tore through a bit of skin but once that’s healed, you’ll be up and running.”

It was much worse than a graze, if the bullet was shot an inch closer it would have lodged itself in the thigh, but the stitches worked wonders and he _will_ be up and running if he’s as stubborn as Callum remembers.

“First Lexi, now me. I really owe that man a pint.” He huffs, flinching as he adjusts himself. “And you.” Their eyes meet until Callum glances down at the glass in Ben’s hand. “Though I don’t know about your brother. Technically, he owes me. Or he will once Tubbs gets back to me.”

“Well, he did bring you here.”

“You let him drive my car?” He teases, passing the glass back to him.

He grabs it, his forefinger falling on top of Ben’s little finger.

“Had to stay next to you, didn’t I?”

Ben’s eyebrows draw together in confusion, there’s a beat, and then the crease disappears.

The orange bathes him in a nice light, and it makes the blue shine with greater intensity. Callum bites the inside corner of his lip to stop anything else coming out.

Ben lets go of the glass, and the clink of putting it on the table breaks the silence, breaks the moment they accidentally got lost in.

He clears his throat, and tells him to get some rest, not making eye contact, not focusing on the tingling in his index finger. Slams the door behind him.

Simon’s sitting up, legs crossed, bunching up the sheets next to him. “I should have guessed Stuart would end up hurting someone one of these days.”

Callum’s stupid for ever lying to him, but now he’s trapped in this web, tangling himself more and more with every conversation they have.

“I mean, what was he doing waving a gun about? Where did he even get a gun from?” Simon’s shaking his head furiously. “Your brother’s a nightmare.”

Callum slumps beside him and rubs a hand over his face. His heart is still beating at a horrendous pace, the adrenaline of the night’s events still buzzing at his nerve endings, and he doesn’t want to deal with this.

He can’t pinpoint when speaking to his fiancé became such a chore for him, but he’s positive it wasn’t like this a couple days ago.

The only thing that’s changed is –

Simon groans. “I can’t believe him! I mean, what kind of person accidentally _shoots_ a man, and then has the audacity to make us swear not to tell the police? And then just sods off!” He pauses to face Callum with a beseeching expression. “We should call the cops, you know.”

Callum swallows, lifts himself up to sit on his knees, and brings Simon’s fists into his hands. “I reckon that’s up to Ben, babe.”

Simon twists the corner of his mouth, staring down at their joined hands, “What’s the deal between you two anyway?”

“What?” He laughs at Ben and him being a _you two_ in the first place.

“Stuart seemed worried about him. You looked…”

“Looked what?”

“Terrified.” He breathes out. Callum can’t meet his eyes, heart rattling to hear Simon put something, something he doesn’t yet understand, into words. “I’ve never seen you like that before. Heard you shout like that. You were beside yourself.”

“Truth is,” He inhales. He doesn't have to lie about everything. Here goes. “I know him. He’s a really old ex.” Simon raises an eyebrow at that. “Really, really old. We’re hardly even friends now. It was a coincidence he was there and just, I dunno, just weird seeing him in a state like that.”

“You were in a state too.”

“Yeah, well, right little drama queen, ain’t I?” He tries for a half smile that Simon reluctantly returns. “I promise, that’s all it was.”

Simon lifts his head to give him a peck, “It’s alright. I trust you.” Discomfort swims through his gut. “I think he needs to stay over a couple days, if he doesn’t want to go to a hospital. Just in case his stitches come out.” He squeezes Callum’s hands, “That’s okay, right? You guys are just really old exes?”

Callum squeezes back to quash the cautiousness in his voice.

“Really, really old.”

When Simon settles into him, somewhere around four in the morning, there’s that heavy feeling of guilt encasing his ribs.

His thoughts wander out of his bedroom and into the guest one.

+

Ben frowns as soon as Simon suggests he stay over longer.

He’s sat up in the bed while Simon tells him he doesn’t know how to stitch himself up, probably doesn’t have the right sterilising equipment to begin with, and if he does get it wrong then he’ll _have_ to go to the hospital, even though he’s not sure why he’s so adamant to not go in the first place.

He presses his lips together and nods to get him to shut up.

The thought of living under the same roof as Callum and his fiancé is sounds like torture.

Jay was right, which he can’t believe he’s admitting - he feels like this is going to end in tears.

When he hears the front door close (he has the house to himself until they’re back from work), he calls Jay to tell him to hold the fort. Avoids any questions of _why_ or _how long for_.

Texts Lola he’ll be out for a while too. She’s got less questions, and figures Jay’s said something about his ex being back on the scene. She was there a year and a half ago, front and centre, for the exclusive Watch Ben Mitchell Fall Apart show, and she’s learnt when and when not to push it.

If only either of them knew what was actually going on.

He dozes off, cursing the paint company that sells that offensive shade of violet.

He wakes with a start to the sound of voices filtering in.

The prickling has calmed down to a numb ache, and Ben’s aware he shouldn’t be walking around this early, but it might convince Simon to let him out this purple prison, so he lifts his leg off.

Trudging to the door, he opens it a crack to see the happy couple talking. His heart drops to his gut. They’re speaking to police officers.

He limps to his bed and scrambles for his phone.

What is Callum doing?

Before he can text Tubbs to come get him, _quick,_ there’s footsteps and Simon’s in the room.

His face is gripped with exhaustion as he perches on the edge of the bed.

“You’re up!”

“Yeah, I thought I’d try and walk around the room for a bit.”

“That’s good. Although it is a bit soon, we don’t want it to swell up.”

Ben goes to sit back on the bed, and Simon helps him. He can't hate the man when he's being so kind. Then he flashes him with his perfect teeth and perfect dimples and Ben wants to kick him with his swollen leg.

“You won’t believe who we just talked to. The police!” He sees Ben’s distress and waves a hand, “not for you. One of our hotels was burgled. At mine and Callum’s party, no less.” He puffs out a breath of disbelief as he continues, “Not the safe or the tills. The rooms! Course the guests got their money back but not good news for us. We might need to hire lawyers if they want to sue. The police said they’re still looking for clues but most of their trails have gone cold.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms and glancing at Ben, who schools his features into shock. “That’s horrible.”

Sometime during his rant, Callum had popped his head in, and he’s hovering in the doorway, uncomfortable.

He chews his lip and focuses on a spot on the carpet, although Simon doesn’t pick up on it.

Ben’s eager to change the subject himself, nothing to do with the way Callum’s face has shut down, and he takes in a deep breath.

“Listen, thanks for having me, but I’m sure I’d sleep better on me own bed. I’ve already walked around; I’ll be good as new by tonight.”

Simon smiles, lips in a thin line, like a schoolteacher. “I think you should stay one more night at least. What do you think, Callum?”

And Ben doesn’t know why Simon can’t work out from the way he plays with his shirt that he’s using all his energy to make sure he doesn’t blurt out a confession.

“Maybe even two – trust me, I’m a paramedic.” He chuckles, though Ben’s not sure what’s funny. “Although, I didn’t always want to be. I was going to be a firefighter. Easier to do. But I don’t know, something just clicked, and here I am. Lucky for you, eh?” He doesn’t give Ben a chance to respond, “I guess my sisters expected me to join them in the business eventually, so they’re going to be disappointed for a while.” He laughs again. “Right, I’ll make a start on dinner, yeah? Spaghetti okay?”

Ben smiles, happier at being left alone than the spaghetti.

Callum lingers at the door after Simon’s gone.

Ben scratches the back of his head, “He talks a lot, huh?”

Callum huffs, nodding. He used to find it endearing, but lately he can’t hear himself think, but he doesn’t fixate on the implications of that. It’s just been a weird couple of days.

He turns to go but Ben clears his throat.

“The girl? That Aidan was talking about?”

Ben tilts his head, chest rising as he holds his breath, waiting for Callum. Why does the world stop turning when he does?

He squirms under Ben’s earnest gaze. “I’ll tell ya. I will. Later.” Ben believes him, or trusts him, and lets him walk away, like he always does.

Ben guesses now’s a good time as any to put their ensuite to use (how rich do you have to be to have an ensuite in every bedroom?) and begins to strip off.

He had zoned out when Simon was telling him about how to shower without ruining his bandages but he supposes he’ll be fine as long as he doesn’t get them wet. Which should be easy, right?

He bends over to take his boxers off, scowling as the pain spurts up his side. He takes a deep breath, he cannot let taking his clothes off become a chore if he wants to convince Simon he’s well enough to leave this hellhole of interior design.

“Do you want to eat on the bed or are you good to come to -” Callum yelps and turns around so fast Ben’s afraid he’s got whiplash. “Sorry!”

He can feel himself heating up, trying to expel the image from his head, which somehow makes it more vivid.

Ben chuckles lightly, “It’s okay. Ain’t nothing you haven’t seen before.” There’s a smirk on his face, Callum can _hear_ it, but it’s not exactly his face that’s the problem.

“I’ll just bring your dinner here.” He manages to squeak out, and flounders out the room, rubbing a hand over the blush dusting his cheeks.

When he’s sure he’s not bright red, he goes to set the table, driving out any graphic images that attempt to worm their way in.

He lets Simon go to give Ben his dinner.

+

Callum wakes up to an empty bed, like he does every last Tuesday of the month.

Simon’s always got an early morning shift, whereas Callum has the whole day off.

He decides to make breakfast, not wanting to walk into Ben’s room unannounced like last night.

There’s a stirring associated with the memory of it that he’s not ready to address.

He flips a pancake, almost doesn’t catch it because his mind is elsewhere.

Around the third one, he hears Ben shuffling into the kitchen, wearing a white shirt that’s hanging loosely off his shoulders, collarbones in view. Grey jogging bottoms like last time, and Callum’s burnt the pancake for other unrelated reasons.

He’s still drowsy when he hunches over the table, ringlets drooping down above his eyes, soft at the edges in a way Callum wasn’t aware he missed.

He finally pulls himself together and puts a pile of pancakes down.

“Thanks.” Ben smiles up at him, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. “Surprised you ain’t still blushing like a maiden after last night.”

“Shut up.” He mutters, searching through the cupboards for syrup because his face is heating up again.

This is the second time they’re doing this. Eating breakfast together that’s actually been cooked rather than bought. And nothing in the world has tasted as bittersweet as these pancakes.

It’s a glimpse, Ben realises as when he sits opposite him, into a world that isn’t his. One that he actively walked away from – and the reasons for doing so still apply, so really nothing has changed.

Not the fact that he doesn’t want to ruin Callum, and not the fact that he’s falling for him every day.

There’s a smudge of syrup on the corner of his lip, telling Ben that he’s imperfect too, intended to deter him but it doesn’t work. Every fault just looks _good_ on Callum because it’s not a fault at all. It’s what makes him human. Real. A reminder that he hasn’t changed much either, that the quirks from two years ago are still here. Just across a kitchen table.

And it’s quite basic, but the fact that Callum isn’t some Greek God he can worship from a distance mangles blood out of his heart. There’s no pretending he can never reach him. Because he _can_ reach him. He _had_ reached him once. And as unsuccessful as he may be, he could try to reach him again, even if it’s only to wipe the syrup off for him.

Then Callum swipes it off with his thumb while Ben’s arm is practically shaking to stay in place and that’s all he needs to reprimand himself for getting carried away.

Callum doesn’t need him to wipe stray syrup off his mouth. He needs him for the Stuart thing. The messy, dangerous, crime things. Not the domestic things. Never the domestic things.

And Ben doesn’t expect anything different. It’s why he let him go in the first place. Because Ben’s life is messy and dangerous and criminal.

And God knows he’ll keep Callum pushed to the side lines of it as much as possible, and then disappear completely when the job is done.

He can’t afford to stick around and gorge himself on hints of what a life with Callum is like.

Callum’s already got someone else for that. Simon. And Ben doesn’t deserve to be bitter, especially since the man saved his life, but the name is like a sledgehammer to the glass coating he’s built around his heart. It’s cracking as the days go on, shards piercing craters into the organ and one day there’ll be nothing left to pierce.

It’s effort to swallow the syrup, pretending this is fine and normal and there’s nothing warm spiking his gut when he glances at Callum, muscles in his arms tensing as he lifts the fork to his mouth. The warm spike turns red hot and ferocious when he reflects that _this_ is what Simon gets to have every morning, That this is the last time he will have it.

He’s a fool if he stays any longer.

But Ben’s a fool for getting caught up in Callum in the first place. He should have let him be, let him make deals with Tubbs, but like the wound on his leg, he won’t stop poking and prodding even if it burns.

Callum kicks him underneath the table, tutting, “You shouldn’t do that.”

He breaks into a wry smile at the truth of that statement.

His leg stays hovering by Ben’s of its own accord, and he guesses it may have something to do with watching him pass out multiple times. As if seeing Ben awake and moving is the presence Callum needs to breathe normally. Or maybe not, and he’s overthinking it at the risk of creeping Ben out. One or the other.

Ben taps his foot with his heel, ignoring how the smallest of touches set him alight, “This is really good.”

Callum’s shy smile is directed at his plate.

He tries to spend the rest of the morning forcing himself to move around, get some feeling back into his thigh that doesn’t hurt.

Eventually, Callum can’t stop himself from bursting into laughter as Ben stomps into the kitchen _again._ He takes exaggeratedly large steps past Callum.

“What _are_ you doing?”

“Practicing my walking.”

Callum shakes his head in amusement.

“You look like an idiot.”

“Oh charming.” He puts a hand on his hip, wounded thigh jutting out ridiculously in hopes that Callum will laugh again. He does, eyes creasing at the corners like Ben hasn’t seen in a while, and his face breaks into a smile before Callum meets his gaze, grinning widely, and his heart flutters something wild.

“I’m trying to make stir fry, shoo!” He waves him away.

“You weren’t this bossy when we were together.”

_Were._

A bubble pops around them.

It’s the reality check he needs as thoughts of Stuart and Aidan and Simon smack him square in the face to remind him that being with Ben all morning doesn’t mean this is anything like two years ago.

Ben senses it too. His world drains of the colour that was beginning to emerge. He wants to say something, but what can he, that won’t make everything worse?

The flat gets colder for the both of them.

+

The bed’s too soft for Ben to fall asleep in and he fidgets in the sheets.

His hair’s still wet from the shower, and he smiles to himself thinking about Callum walking in yesterday.

The way his eyes lingered, widened, and then darted to the ceiling. Red flurrying up his neck as he turned around, tips of his ears turning pink.

Still easily flustered then.

He’s not daft enough to presume it was him having that effect on Callum, he’d have reacted that way to seeing anyone in the buff, but that doesn’t stop something warm from pooling low in his stomach. And lower.

 ****** He shuffles around as much as his legs allow, ending up with one bent up and the bandaged one straightened out in front of him.

Ben traces patterns on his right thigh. Thinks back to a morning in an overly ornate hotel room when he’d driven Callum crazy by waking up like this.

How Callum’s gaze had darkened at the way his leg swayed to the side, and he’d come in between them, putting a leg over Ben’s straightened one, and a hand pressing on the underside of his other thigh.

Looked Ben in the eyes, fingers demanding his leg to move back until his knee was level with his ears and foot dangling over Callum’s shoulder.

Open and easy and ready to give him anything he wanted.

He said as much, and Callum had smiled affectionately, desire dripping from him.

Now he’s started thinking about it, he can’t stop. Callum’s hands trailing further down towards his growing erection, fingertips dragging, scratching, _touching._ Sparks of electricity erupting under Ben’s skin. Teasing him with the promise of what’s to come. Slow and drawn out and Ben’s begging for more.

His eyelids flutter shut as he brings his own hand under the covers, wishing they were as big as Callum’s.

Callum had put his other hand under his jaw, thumbing the vein on his neck before dipping to suck on it. Brought Ben’s skin in between his teeth to emboss the taste of him on his tongue. Used the leg over Ben’s hip to keep him pinned in place, keep him writhing deliciously so every so often he’d end up bucking his hips and the connection would knock a groan out of Callum’s throat.

He makes a similar sound at the thought of it, his hand working faster, before clamping his lips together – they’re only a room away for God’s sake. _He’s_ only a room away.

But when Ben’s eyes screw closed so tight he’s nearly got a headache, it’s almost as if his weight is on top of him.

On Ben. Around Ben. In Ben.

And, _fuck,_ does he crave it.

He would have worked a couple of fingers in by now, kissing the corner of his mouth when whimpers trembled out, smiling down in adoration as Ben unravelled beneath him.

Pools of blue, staring down with a gentleness Ben’s never properly experienced before, it makes Ben’s toes curl.

And there must be something in the painkillers he’s been taking because he can remember what Callum felt like in explicit dimension.

Every bulging detail.

He has to throw a fist over his mouth to smother his moans so they’re rumbling and hitting the walls inside his body.

He tightens his hand around himself, thrusting his body upwards, breaths getting shallower because Callum’s enough to fill him completely, circling and pounding into the right spot over and over, filthiest whispers raising a violent flush to Ben’s cheeks.

And when he would whine for even more contact, he’d push his tongue into Ben’s mouth. Dirty and desperate and for some reason, Ben can taste syrup.

It’s bubbling up, quicker than Ben can stop it, and replaying the sensation of Callum tensing in him before he peaked is all it takes for him to become undone all over his hand.

 ****** His heart catches in his throat when he stifles a groan, head rolling back, and he wishes he could get himself off without the smell of Callum’s sweat rippling around him as if he were here.

Around fifteen minutes later, Ben drops down on the bed again, having cleaned himself up so nobody can work out just how many lines he’s crossed.

Tries to expel thoughts of Callum post orgasm as he falls asleep.

There’s no tickling at the nape of his neck, lips mouthing an affronted _Ben_ when he’s complimented on his technique, their ankles knocking into each other since their bodies can’t help but draw close.

He can get sex anywhere. Really good sex too – his neighbours can vouch for that.

But the bit after? The warmth? He’s lost that forever, as if it's been gouged out of him.

He’s got no way of knowing how hollow Callum feels as he falls asleep, even with Simon tucked in beside him. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys, i clicked on this and it has more than a hundred kudos? i can die happy now, thank you so so much  
> sorry for the long ass wait, i got side tracked writing something else (which, by the way, if you want, you can go and read, i kinda sorta had a blast writing it)  
> anyways, here we go, tell me if you hate it in the comments, love you all lots xxx

“A dinner party?” Ben wrinkles his nose, pretty sure dinner parties are for middle aged couples who are too old to be let into a club anymore.

“Yeah, Callum’s boss wants to introduce a new menu item, and this is the best way to do it.”

“So it’s a work do?” He shuffles on the sofa. Why are there _five_ throw pillows?

“No,” Simon says slowly, “It’s for mates. And Callum’s boss happens to be there.”

“And I can’t go home because…?” He’s given up trying to be tactful about the situation.

He was hoping to leave Wednesday morning, not looking Callum in the eyes when he brought it up in case he could tell what he’d done the night before. But Simon had found a roundabout way of saying _not yet_ and Ben spent the whole of Wednesday watching Simon and Callum be a couple around him.

To Callum’s credit, he does try and dial down the PDA.

Like right now, as he walks into the living room with three cups of coffee and sits himself at Simon’s side, shifting away when he tries to snake an arm around his waist.

“I was just telling Ben about the party tomorrow.”

“Oh, the work do?”

Simon sighs, eyeing Ben, “It’s not a work do if it’s only one person from work.”

“Right.” Callum hums, reaching past Simon to give Ben his mug. “My mistake.”

Ben fights a smile and has to drag his eyes from Callum when he hears his name. “Hmm?”

“I was saying,” Simon seems to huff, changing channels, “Why don’t you invite your friend? The one that knows Ruby?”

“Jay? I might.”

Simon finally stops on a home renovating show, settling into the cushions to listen to Martin Robert’s opinion on double glazing.

Callum doesn’t seem to find it particularly interesting, though, and tells Ben, “Did Simon tell you that you can go home after the party too?”

“Do I _have_ to stay for the work thing?” Ben’s aware he sounds like Lexi.

The corner of Callum’s mouth twists up, and he nods, “Maybe it won’t be as bad as you think.”

Ben contemplates it for about two seconds. Then he shakes his head and grimaces at Callum, who grins in response.

Ben feels a heat rush up his spine, the way it always does when Callum looks at him like that, smile reaching his eyes, and he focuses on the TV.

He wonders what the hosts would think of the garish purple assaulting the wall of the guest bedroom.

He’s imagining the satisfaction of stripping off the paint, when Simon turns to give Callum a peck on the cheek.

He glowers into his half empty cup, heart twisting.

“Thanks for the coffee, babe.” He gets up to put his and Callum’s mugs away.

“Sorry,” Callum begins once Simon’s left, though he’s not exactly sure why.

Ben waves a hand. “I didn’t know you drank coffee. The closest you got to it was having a latte.” He swirls the now cold drink in its cup, eager to change the subject but unsure why he chose the topic of _Remember how I broke up with you and now you’ve changed and isn’t that funny._

Callum scratches the back of his neck, “I still don’t drink a lot of coffee. But Simon bought me a coffeemaker for my birthday so I can’t not use it.”

“You don’t need to pretend.” It falls out of Ben’s mouth when he tilts his head without him realising. He furrows his brow and Callum thinks he might not be talking about the coffee anymore.

It’s been a weird couple of days for Callum.

He’s never felt on edge with Simon before, but lately there’s something weighing him down that only lifts around Ben.

It’s because Ben knows about the whole Aidan thing, right? He’s always been a bad liar and this whole situation is making him incredibly uncomfortable.

Right?

That’s why it’s easier with Ben. No other reason. Especially any reason that really shouldn’t be suggested right now, when he’s engaged to Simon.

And the fact that Ben appeared just as he needed someone? There at the burglary he organised? The gay bar even though he doesn’t live in Walford? His plates being the same as the ones in his restaurant?

It’s just a coincidence. Has to be.

He stamps down whatever’s fluttering in his chest and drowns out the voice whispering something about fate.

It doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t matter. He’s marrying Simon. He loves Simon.

He wishes he didn’t have to keep telling himself that.

Even if Simon wasn’t in the picture (even though he very much is, bang in the middle) it doesn’t _mean_ anything.

Ben broke up with him by writing him a letter. _A_ _letter._ And then disappeared for nearly two years. And all he wrote was that their worlds are too different and that he’s no good for him and he doesn’t even do boyfriends anyway and he’s sorry. And Callum was stuck mending a broken heart he shouldn’t have had invested into a fling in the first place.

“It ain’t pretend.” He snaps, a bite to his words that turns the air in the living room cold.

Simon doesn’t seem to notice, as he comes back, sitting in between them.

Ben finishes his cold cup of coffee, pretending to like it because that’s what he’s supposed to do.

+

Friday evening rolls around after what feels like an eternity.

Ben helps them set the table, tidies up the living room, and rearranges the throw pillows for no reason other than to show Simon his leg has healed so he doesn’t change his mind and make him stay longer.

He makes it a point to walk past him to the front door without limping.

“Ian?”

“Ben?”

“You know each other?” They snap their heads to Callum.

“Yeah, he’s my brother.” Although Ben’s face doesn’t seem very happy about it. “Wait, _Ian’s’_ your boss?”

Callum and Ian look at each other, and then Ben, and shrug. Ben’s face morphs into sympathy, their weird moment earlier seemingly forgotten because having to work for Ian Beale is so bad it excuses strange behaviour.

Simon calls Ian to the table just as the doorbell rings again, and Callum bumps into Ben as they both go to open it, his front colliding with his back.

“Sorry, I -”

“Oh, after y-”

Callum smiles at the ground.

He clears his throat and points awkwardly towards the dining room.

“I should go – make a good impression on Ian.” He doesn’t meet Ben’s eyes as he says it, knows there’s a fondness around the edges.

Ben’s still got a grin when he opens the door to see Jay holding a bottle of red wine.

“You’re in better spirits than I expected you to be.” He says, walking in, whistling under his breath. “Size of this place, eh?”

“Tell me about it. Come on,” He claps him on his shoulder, “Let me show you the two people keeping me hostage.”

He tries to keep his tone light, just one more evening of having Callum and Simon all over his face and then he can go back to keeping his distance.

Jay and Simon get along as well as they did in The Albert, and Ruby walks in not long after. Ben’s gaze wanders towards Callum and Ian talking, snorting behind his beer can when Callum looks at him with misery in his eyes.

He considers joining them, helping Callum out, but he’s stopped from making that bad decision when the doorbell rings again.

“Finally!” Simon claps his hands together, “We can get started on the food now.”

+

Callum tries not to stare at Ian when he takes his first bite of the sirloin steak he spent all day preparing. He’s sat opposite him, though, so it makes his covert glances difficult to hide.

His expression barely changes as he chews it, although he does make that weird sound that Callum thinks is either approval or extreme disgust.

“Why’s it taking him so long to finish his bite?” Ben whispers from the right of him, Whitney and Tiffany talking loud enough that only Callum hears.

Callum smiles down at his plate and whispers back, “He has to let his taste buds get used to the flavours.”

Ben raises his eyebrows at Callum, and he presses his lips together in response, shaking his head as if to say _don’t get me started._

Or, at least, Ben guesses that’s what he’s saying. Spending a couple of days together doesn’t mean they can have a conversation without words like they could a few years ago.

Jay kicks his leg under the table, not the one that’s been shot but Ben winces dramatically anyway.

He doesn’t need a magic bond with him to read the condemnation on his face from across the table.

“So,” Ruby asks Jay from the right end of the table, so that Jay and Ben stop engaging in an intense staring competition, “How do you know Simon?”

Simon laughs, and Ben’s learnt to control rolling his eyes every time he starts something off with _It’s a funny story, actually._

How funny can meeting someone at a bar be?

Much to his chagrin, Ben has to sit and find out, although he’s spared the animated hand gestures Simon’s doing because his body is hidden by Callum’s.

While everyone else on the table seems engrossed by the fact that Jay ordered the same drink as him, Ben takes note of the two people here he doesn’t know.

The redhead is on the left end on the table, who thankfully doesn’t remember him from the engagement party, and her little sister is sat on one side of Ian.

“Wait!” Whitney hiccups _._ “You ain’t told them the story, Si. Tell em’ how you proposed.”

Ruby also mutters in agreement and Ben’s lucky he doesn’t chop his plate in two as he cuts another slice.

Callum watches his movements, the aggressive way his knife scrapes against the steak, and wills Simon not to launch into the long version of events with his eyes.

Simon just smiles and puts a hand over his.

“Well, I was just sitting and watching some home design show,” he says nonchalantly, but Ben’s unfortunate enough to know that it’s his favourite, “and Callum comes in, smelling like Yorkshire Pudding, and he looked so cute with his hair all messy and you _know_ that turns me on and-”

Callum coughs, “My _boss_ is here, Si.”

“Oh no, I don’t mind.” Ian says, shifting in his seat like he does.

Ben’s just as uncomfortable, but he has been for the past four days so it shouldn’t grate at his skin so harshly.

He doesn’t hear the rest of Simon’s story, thinks about Simon and Callum instead. Callum and Simon. The kind of couple who host dinner parties and engagement parties and probably just married parties and anniversary parties and first pet parties and first _baby_ parties.

His heart catches in his throat. Or maybe it’s bile.

The girls on the table _aww_ as Simon finishes.

He grinds his teeth and the girl, Tiffany he thinks, catches it, forehead wrinkling as she suppresses a frown. Then she looks over at Callum and her eyes seem to clear.

“So, Ian, you gonna give Callum a raise?” She says.

Ian chuckles, “I’m actually very generous anyway. But I’ll think about it.”

Ben knows he won’t.

Ruby snickers too, and Ian waves his fork in disagreement. “No, it’s true, ask Ben.”

All eyes turn to him, although he’s only aware of the ones scorching into his left cheek.

“What _are_ you on about?”

“I got you limited edition dinnerware from my restaurant.”

“Uh, no.” Ben sets his cutlery down, and Callum bites back a smile because Ben’s still the kind of person who has to have the last word. “You gave me your spares for my birthday so they didn’t go to waste. Free publicity, you called it, for when I have guests round.”

Ian points a fork at Ben, steak hanging off of it, ready to reply when Jay clears his throat. “Thanks for inviting me to your work thing, Simon. Callum. Appreciate it.”

This is enough to distract Ian, apparently, and he twists to tell Jay, “It’s not a work thing.”

Ben smirks down at his plate, knocking his left knee against Callum, as Simon and Ian discuss what does and doesn’t count as a ‘work do’.

“So what would you call it, Ian?” Ben asks, glancing at Callum, who’s shaking his head in amusement again.

“A party.”

“Well, then, you should show us your party trick.” Ian looks at him blankly. “Or not, just an idea.” He throws Callum a wink.

“More wine?” Simon gets up suddenly, and is met with a chorus of _yeses_ , Ian’s being the loudest.

The topic of party tricks isn’t let go, and Simon fills up everyone’s glasses as they listen to Whitney sing something they can’t quite recognize. Tiffany promises everyone she can juggle, just that she’s not as inebriated as her sister so she won’t do it at the dinner table, and Ian grudgingly pretends to separate the two halves of his thumb.

“That’s not even magic!” Ben insists, but Callum catches the way his eyes sparkle, even Jay and Ruby are laughing. Jay agrees, and tries to make his napkin disappear, but it doesn’t work and the wine in everyone makes the situation hilarious.

“Can anyone actually do proper magic round here?” Ruby cackles as Jay tries again.

”Shouldn’t you be able to, Si?” Whitney giggles, “You’ve got a bit of Irish in ya.”

”That don’t mean I can do actual magic!”

“Cal can.” Ben’s hand hovers above his thigh, his old habit of rubbing Callum’s leg trying to resurface, and he snatches it away. Callum feels the burn at the split second of contact.

“Really?” Simon asks, taking a seat, “You never said, babe.”

“Yeah well, it was ages ago.”

“Oh, c’mon, Callum _please._ ” Tiffany flicks a pea at him.

It takes Ben and Whitney annoying him like schoolchildren until he concedes.

“I’ll go get them from the mantelpiece.”

Simon laughs because he thought they were ornamental. Which is funny to him for some reason. Ben doesn’t dwell on it.

Callum sounds resigned when he asks Simon to tell him to stop, shuffling the cards, but there’s a glint in his eye that reminds Ben of two years ago.

_Stop that._

When Simon does say stop, he picks out the card to show the rest of the table.

It’s the Six of Spades.

He shuffles them back in, and Ben watches him rearrange the cards with an ease he still finds attractive.

_Stop that right now._

“Okay, Si, tell me to stop again.”

After shuffling for some time, he’s stopped again, in a different place in the pack.

He brings the card out to the top.

Whitney gasps, “Callum, you have to teach me to do that.”

Callum scratches the back of his neck and laughs, “S’nothing really.”

Ben nudges him with his elbow, “Nah, you’re talented.”

He smiles down at Ben shyly, shrugging. The corner of Ben’s eyes soften, and he smiles back.

“Right!” Simon pushes his plate away, “I’m done with dinner. Everyone?”

The voices of everyone else muttering in agreement sound faraway to Callum.

+

Ben laughs half-heartedly at something Jay says.

It’s short lived though, as he hears Whitney coo. “Oh Callum, that’s _adorable_.” She picks up a photo frame showing the two in front of the Eiffel Tower.

He rolls his eyes. Paris is so obvious.

Simon wraps a hand around Callum’s bicep and he has to look away before he bursts a vein.

Jay gives him a knowing look, and opens his mouth to say something, but Ian gets there first.

“Wow, look at this place. I mean, personally, I’d have gone with black sofas, but each to their own.” He makes a face at the offensively white ones.

“Oh give it a rest, Ian.” He grumbles, sitting down, facing away from Callum.

Jay sits on the other side of the couch, wringing his hands like he doesn’t know what to do with them, and raises an eyebrow at Ben.

“What? I don’t care about their interior design choices.”

“You complained about their duvet and wall matching for five whole minutes!”

“Yeah, ‘cos it’s bright purple,” he argues, “that’s not a choice, that’s a mistake!”

He reaches for a glass of wine, downing it in one go, and slumping back.

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, zoning in regularly enough to maintain a stilted conversation with Jay, ignoring any other background noise.

It’s only when a pair of jean clad legs stop in front of him that he’s snapped out of it.

Callum shoots Jay a look, and within a second, he’s up and shuffling towards Ian, who gladly accepts the chance to talk about their choice of curtains.

“You okay?” He sits almost right next to Ben, and Ben can tell because the sliver of space between them has all his hairs on end.

He nods, non-committal at first, but he can’t help but want to keep talking to Callum and waves his hand over his leg. “Giving me jip.”

He rubs over it once, and then rests his hand on top of it, elbow sticking out near Callum’s arm.

Callum doesn’t stare at the way the light bounces off the ring on his hand, thumb resting on the side of his inner thigh, the inseam of his jeans running up –

“So, Ian’s your boss?”

Callum sighs heavily at the sad truth. “And the guest of honour. I don’t think he liked what I made though.”

“Are you kidding? He went back for seconds; he definitely likes it.”

“Yeah? You think?”

He hears a small smile in Callum’s voice, and almost forgets he’s only here because his brother’s in hot water with Aidan Maguire. Almost.

Ben stares at the floor ahead of him, “Yeah.”

“Thanks.”

Callum knocks his knee against Ben’s, and he has to squeeze his thigh to suppress the flurry in his chest.

He lets out an involuntary gasp and Callum’s hand goes to his elbow at the sound.

“What happened? You okay?” The concern in his tone throws Ben aback, even though it shouldn’t at this point, and he has to absolutely not stare at where Callum’s fingers are hovering in the air next to his elbow.

After a second, Callum pulls his hand away, without even feeling the fabric of his shirt, although he shouldn’t want to feel it anyway.

Ben grunts out that he’s fine and gets up, making a beeline for Jay.

“Ben! Tell the man I don’t need blackout curtains.”

“But it’ll help you sleep better. Get rid of the,” Ian points to the space underneath his eyes, “anyway, Lana says you can’t go wrong with a pair of blackout curtains.”

“Who’s Lana?”

Ian’s face radiates with glee as he describes the beautiful customer who walked into Walford East the other day. “Love at first sight, I tell ya. She really is the one.”

Ben rolls his eyes, “You barely know her.”

Ian’s lips purse into a pitying smile. “It’s okay.” He puts a hand on Ben’s shoulder, which he instantly shrugs off. He doesn’t seem to mind as he carries on “You’ll find someone too. When the right person comes along, well, you just know don’t ya?”

Ben looks at Jay in despair, wondering what awful turn he took to end up getting relationship advice from Ian, guesses the awful turn happened some nineteen months ago.

Jay snorts.

“Don’t.” Ben warns.

This is probably the worst evening of his life.

+

“That’s the last of them.” Simon ties up the trash bag, scouting the floor for any stray bottles of vodka.

He sees Ben hover under the door of the living room and cracks a smile. “Don’t worry, Callum’ll take you home. We’re not going to force you to stay any longer.” He gestures to the bin bag in his hand, “I’m just gonna throw this away, yeah?”

Ben releases a sigh once he’s gone.

He takes one last look around the room, which has been cleared of almost any indication that there was a party at all. All the throw cushions are placed neatly on the sofas and the table is empty of everything except a tissue box and a fake plant. Ben doesn’t really understand the purpose of the fake plant. He picks up a lone wine glass left by the leg of the sofa.

When he gets to the kitchen, Callum is putting the last of the plates in the dishwasher.

“So,” he says to break the silence, coming to stand next to him, putting the glass down. Callum tilts his head at Ben expectantly.

“Er, Simon said. You can take me home.”

Callum raises an eyebrow, glint in his eye, or maybe it’s just the kitchen light.

“I meant,” and Ben has to swallow to stop himself from stuttering, “cos I can’t drive. Like this,” flapping a hand near his thigh. “Also, I’m pretty sure Stuart took my car.”

Callum rubs a hand over his face in dismay, “I did tell him to take it to the car lot. But-” and he just shakes his head instead of finishing the sentence.

He uses his left arm to lean against the counter, hints of a smirk playing on his face. “All right. I’ll take you home. Hope you’re not expecting me to put out.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” And Ben _knows_ he’s about to start blushing if he doesn’t pull himself together.

Callum tuts as he spots the glass Ben brought with him. “Just finished loading it up.” Head pointing in the general direction of the dishwasher, lips pouting.

Ben beams at the ground. How can one man be so adorable?

_A man who’s engaged. Snap out of it._

Ben’s smile tightens as he looks up at him, leaning against the counter too, “I’m glad we can be mates, ya know? S’ a bit weird being friends with your ex, but I reckon we’re doing all right.” He goes for casual, gripping the counter with his right hand so his body doesn’t buckle under the weight of his words.

He’s as far from a friend as he could be. He’s pretty sure friends don’t have erotic dreams about the other involving syrup.

He’s brought out of accidentally getting a boner when Callum grins at him. “Yeah, who says exes can’t be friends?”

He pushes himself off the counter and takes a step toward him.

He brings his body forward, reaching across Ben’s waist, to grab the wine glass. It’s not until he’s curled his fingers around the base of it that he realises how close they are.

Ben stares at the way Callum’s Adam’s apple dips, and Callum’s helpless to do anything but follow his gaze, as his eyes crawl up his throat. His jaw. His mouth.

“That card trick,” Ben breathes out, “How did you do it?”

“’M not supposed to say.” He whispers, and it brushes over Ben’s lips.

He considers telling him anyway.

Lots of things he’s not supposed to do that he wants to.

Then Ben’s eyes trail up further, past all the freckles on his cheeks, up to his eyelashes. They flutter and Callum’s eyes flit down to where Ben is wetting his lips, then up, down again, and when their eyes meet, his pupils are darker, lips tingling.

Callum clutches the bottom of the wine glass, hears his pulse throbbing in his ears, and watches Ben tilt his chin up.

Slightly. But enough.

Enough that all Callum needs to do is listen to his body.

Just a bit closer.

His hand tightens around the glass.

A bit closer.

Ben closes his eyes.

_Closer._

The creak of the front door rebounds into the kitchen, making Callum recoil, wine glass smashing to the floor.

“Oh, how have you done that, then?”

Callum stares down at it with wide eyes, the fragments glaring back up disparagingly, his reflection in them disjointed and critical.

“Butter fingers, sorry.” Ben says, after the silence hangs in the air too long.

Simon accepts it, shooing the two out, Callum tripping as he’s thrust through the door.

He doesn’t speak even when they’re at a traffic light, halfway through their drive, his fingers drumming an angry beat on the steering wheel.

Ben decides to bite the bullet.

“Let’s just forget that happened, okay? Just got carried away.” The words taste wrong on his tongue, but they seem to ease the tension that has Callum hunched over.

He throws Ben a sideways glance, swallowing heavily, “I love Simon.”

Ben doesn’t know what he was expecting but it wasn’t _that_.

He didn’t think Callum would whip his head round and say he feels it too, a pull between them or a rush that only happens when they’re near each other, but the finality in his words is the last push Ben needs to remind himself of his place.

They are friends. For now. And he’s going to help him with his problem and then never ever hear from him again.

It’s silent for the rest of the car ride.

“Right, this is me.”

When Ben makes to get out the car, Callum clears his throat. “I never asked,” and it looks like he’s debating whether to ask at all, “why are you doing this?”

“Getting out?”

“No, why are you helping me?”

Ben’s hand hovers over the door handle.

He doesn’t know. Or, more worryingly, he does and saying it out loud will ruin everything. He needs to remember his place.

He shrugs, looking through Callum, “You needed help, mate, that’s all. Would do it for anyone who knew Tubbs.”

_Mate._

Callum makes an _ah_ sound and his shoulders slump.

“Any other pressing questions?” He teases.

“Actually,” and it’s stupid of Callum to ask but it’s not like he hasn’t already embarrassed himself tonight, “When we was together, and I used to play with your hair, did you like it?”

An amused smile creeps on Ben’s face. “I liked it. It felt nice.” And it feels like a massive admission but opening up to Callum’s never been hard for him to do. “Why?”

“Just something I was thinking of.” _When you were shot. When I thought I was going to lose you. Again._

“You need to tell me,” and Callum looks up with furrowed brows, “About the Aidan thing. You can’t keep stuff from me. Or I won’t be able to help you.”

Ah. Of course. Aidan. That’s why he’s here, isn’t he?

“I just didn’t want to dump all of it on you.”

“It’s okay,” and his voice is so soft that there’s no judgement hiding in there, “I get why you did it. But I can handle it. For-”

Callum’s phone starts ringing. It’s Simon.

Ben sighs, opening the car door, “Just text me. Or I’ll text you. Whatever.”

Slams the door shut behind him.

Ben sees him as a mate, and his gut shouldn’t twist because that’s how Callum sees him too, and that voice that used to whisper _it’s fate_ has taken to laughing at him now.

He’s always worked closely with Tubbs, Callum should’ve remembered that, and the Prince Albert is his mum’s bar so it’s reasonable that they saw each other there, and Ian gave his spare plates to his brother, so that’s why he had them. It’s not some weird sign from the universe, it’s just perfectly normal things making perfectly normal sense.

In the reflection of the side mirror, he doesn’t see the Callum he is now but the person he used to be. The idiot who always fell too hard, too fast, romanticising the mundane because he wanted to believe in fairy tales. There’s no such thing. Just like there’s no cosmic pull between him and Ben. If there was, he wouldn’t have broken up with him in the first place.

He just lets his phone go to voicemail.

When Callum gets home, Simon’s sitting on their sofa with blank eyes and his lips screwed to the side.

“Si?”

“It’s him, ain’t it?”

“What?”

“That ex that you still weren’t over when we first met? It’s Ben.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it’s been a while, but i promise i’m writing whenever i have the time to so thank you for bearing with me x  
> happy reading <3

“Si?”

“It’s him, ain’t it?”

“What?”

“That ex that you still weren’t over when we first met? It’s Ben.”

When Callum goes to sit next to him, Simon’s eyes shine with tears.

“I don’t understand,” Callum tries to hold the hands he’s wringing in his lap. “Why does it matter?”

“So it _is_ him.” Simon breathes out a wry laugh, laced with the same bitterness heaving into Callum’s gut. “You said he was a really old ex.”

“He is-”

“So what? I’m just a rebound that’s gone too far?”

“What? No-”

“You were heartbroken.” His voice goes high pitched.

“Were! Ages ago. It’s been more than a _year_.” His eyes burn, so do his lips, but the shudder of Ben’s breath is not ghosting over his mouth, not right now when he’s struggling to clutch onto Simon’s hands.

“What about tonight, then? There’s still _something_ between you two.”

“What?” He’s finding it difficult to breathe.

“I wanted to ignore it. But,” He sucks in a breath, “at dinner, I felt like it was me third wheeling. And it shouldn’t have felt like…like _that._ ”

“Babe-”

“And this whole week? You’ve been so off. That’s to do with him, isn’t it?”

And Callum’s heart hammers furiously against his chest now, because Simon’s the only part of this that Stuart hasn’t ruined. That _he_ hasn’t ruined. The one good, proper, tangible thing that shows he’s not a screw up like Jonno. If he marries Simon, he’s as far from Jonno as he can be. With Simon, he’s getting things _right._ Or at least he was.

He grasps helplessly at Simon’s hands. “He’s not – we’re not -“

“Look, if you still like him-”

“I don’t-”

“ _If_ you do, then we need to call it quits, don’t we?” His voice trembles at the question.

“No, no, it’s not _like_ that.” His voice just as unsteady, shaking with – with what? Denial? Uncertainty? He can’t delve into it now. “I don’t think _anything_ of him. I said I’d marry you, didn’t I? I want to marry _you._ Not him.”

Callum’s pleading, _begging,_ with his eyes, and Simon must see it because his hands relax.

He lets Callum thumb over the engagement band on his finger.

“You’re – you’re great, Si. The best guy I’ve met. Ever. You’re funny, and thoughtful, and,” he squeezes his hands, “Ben’s an ex. That’s all he is. An ex. And – and kind of a mate. You,” he lifts their joined hands, “us – that’s my future. Please, _please_ , let’s not let anyone get in the way.”

Simon swallows, drops his eyes to where his and Callum’s rings knock into each other’s while Callum blinks back the tears prickling at his vision.

The seconds go on.

“Yeah.” He sighs. “Yeah, I shouldn’t.”

Callum exhales, the weight in his stomach not yet gone.

Simon twists the corners of his mouth, “Him getting shot, though, Stuart being there, that weren’t a coincidence, was it?”

Callum considers biting his tongue. But this is his fiancé, isn’t it? It’s _Simon._ All this hiding has already created a rift between them and here’s an out.

“Stuart’s in trouble.” He whispers.

“Sodding Stuart.” Simon lets go of his hands and runs them through his hair. “And Ben?”

“He, uh, he’s got connections. People who can help.”

“But why? Why’s he helping?”

“He’s a mate.” He repeats what Ben said to him in the car, refrains from wincing at it.

“And he’d help any of his mates, would he?”

“ _Yes_. Yes, he would.” He’d made that perfectly clear.

Simon chews his bottom lip, thinking something over.

After a few beats of stretched out silence, he finally asks, with a grimace, “How long till it’s over? This whole thing?”

“Soon.”

“Before we get married?”

“Yeah.” _I hope so._

“Okay.” He nods slowly. “Okay.”

He gets up, Callum standing up with him.

“Promise me this will be over by the time we get married.”

Callum breathes in, poison trickling into his lungs. “I promise.”

“Okay,” he runs his hands through his hair again, puffing out a breath. “Get it done, then, and don’t tell me any details.”

He drags his feet to their bedroom, Callum’s eyes following his trawling footsteps, and he leaves the door open a crack.

That’s good, he’s not sleeping on the sofa yet.

That’s a relief.

Right?

Blood thumps in his ears. A steady, ordered rhythm as if his life is falling into place.

Simon’s okay with this. They’re still getting married. It’s _good_. It _is_ falling into place.

He’s not sure why he’s dizzied with the turn of events.

_Get it done, then, and don’t tell me any details._

He leaves his phone on the coffee table when he goes to bed, and it flashes in the dark with a text.

Ben should go to bed.

His thigh throbs from having to climb up two flights of stairs and he’s got a Simon induced headache. Or Callum induced. Or both.

He considers texting him one more time.

_Need you to tell me all the details._

It was only sent one minute ago. It’s been a long day. Chance are, he’s asleep. Besides, double texting is weird.

_We’re in this together, yeah?_

What an idiot.

Why isn’t there an unsend button?

It’s fine. He’s being overdramatic.

It’s not fine.

It’s _fine._

The intercom buzzes, making Ben jump.

He presses the button that opens the main door, working out the likelihood that Simon somehow guessed he was in pain and is back to drag him to the awful, purple bedroom.

He shakes his head at the thought. There must have been something in the wine he drank.

The knock on his door is brief, and he opens it halfway before wanting to slam it shut again.

“Ben Mitchell.” He says, Irish accent coating his words, “I was wondering why you looked so familiar.”

Familiar? As far as he’s concerned, they’ve only met once.

“I’d invite you in but there’s a no dog policy.” He crosses his arms and stays in the doorway.

Aidan chuckles. “You really are your father’s son.”

Ben’s back stiffens at that.

Everything he is now, all the bad he’s done and the bad he’s doing and the bad he can’t run away from – that’s all Phil Mitchell. And, yeah, it’s oozed into him and he’s powerless to do anything but stay far enough away from anyone he could tarnish.

But he’s left Phil behind now. The real one, not the metaphorical, looming presence in the back of his head. But it’s progress.

To anyone that doesn’t know them (so anyone who doesn’t live in Walford, really) they wouldn’t even guess they were related. They barely acknowledge each other in passing.

Ben had given up the Arches once he realised he was cut out the will, to make room for the gormless mechanic Louise decided to marry, no less; and made a go of the car lot.

Well. Made a go is pushing it. He knew about a month in that he had no idea what he was doing and rang his old cellmate for jobs that would pay much better.

The jobs that landed him headfirst into the casino game.

Headfirst into -

“Now, what I want to know,” and Ben assumes he’s been talking for some time, “is why you’re helping Stuart Highway. What could you possibly be getting out of it?”

“And what I want to know,” he says in a low voice, “is why you think I’ll tell you. Why don’t ya just leave him alone? You clearly have enough money.” He eyes his coat, guesses it’s designer.

“It’s not about the money, Ben.” He tips his hat. “It’s the principle of it all. I can’t have people taking me for a mug.”

Ben’s getting sick of small talk. He’s suffered through a whole evening of it.

“What do you want?”

“See, I’ve got a bit of business with your dad. The fun kind,” he bares his teeth in a display of what may be a grin, “except he’s not really picking up my calls. I was just hoping you could give him a nudge for me. So Stuart’s debt doesn’t go up.” At the word _up_ , he points his cane upwards, before letting it hit the landing outside Ben’s door, the tap echoing through the building.

Ben picks at his nails, bored and uninvested in the conversation, but his mind’s been spinning and he’s realised some things. He’s realised that Aidan’s pretending to know more than he does. He doesn’t know that Ben and Phil aren’t on nudging terms, or that he couldn’t care less about Stuart.

And you don’t need to be a genius to figure either of those things out.

Okay.

Two can play at that game.

He narrows his eyes, “I’ve got a question, though. Why her?” 

“Why Zara, you mean?” Aidan shakes his head in amusement, grey hairs bouncing as he does so. Ben keeps his face expressionless. _Zara._ “Ugly mug with a short temper? Doesn’t exactly have a girlfriend or wife at home I can threaten. No, I had to go for the daughter.”

Ben’s mouth twitches. Even breaths, come on. Can’t give anything away. But Aidan’s threatening to take Stuart’s daughter? That’s cruel.

He’s not sure why he expected less from someone his dad did business with.

But what did Aidan say at the chapel?

_I will take her._

“But you haven’t gone for her yet.”

“No, not yet, but I will. Won’t have to if Stuart pays me back, though.” He scoops his shoulders inwards, his eyes darting left.

Ben tilts his head, lets the silence linger as Aidan’s wrinkled fingers play with the top of his cane, jerking from side to side.

“How are you planning on taking her? You think she ain’t got security? Course she does.”

“Oh yeah?” Aidan’s eyes twitch from under his hat.

“Yeah.” He breathes in, swallowing as discreetly as he can. His heartbeat’s rapid in a way that’s warning him that this is a bad idea. But Ben is Ben, so he carries on like there aren’t alarm bells going off in his head. “Besides, the University of Cardiff would notice she’s gone missing, won’t they?”

A glint dances in Aidan’s pupils, the corners of his mouth in a smirk. “I have my ways.”

“Right.” He breathes out, conceals his relief by yawning.

“Well, I best be off, it’s getting late and I don’t want you to lose any beauty sleep.”

“So soon?”

“I’m meeting family tomorrow. I want to be well rested for it.”

Ben grimaces at the thought of Aidan and _family._

He turns to leave, but not before reminding Ben to “Get Phil to call me.” And then he’s gone.

Ben shuts his front door and falls against it, the doorknob digging into his spine as he wipes sweat from his forehead.

He should go to bed.

+

Callum squints at the last three texts he’s received, the sunlight making it difficult to see the phone screen.

_Ian: Revealing my signature steak Sunday, B there early_

_Simon: Be home early for dinner tonight :-D X_

_Ben: We’re in this together, yeah?_

He sighs heavily.

“That doesn’t sound good.” Tiffany chuckles, taking a sip of her coffee. “Can I sit?”

He nods, rubbing a hand over his face.

Ian’s overseeing things at the Mayfair restaurant today, so hiding in Walford seemed like a good idea. He should have assumed Tiffany would somehow find him.

“Let me guess,” she says as she adjusts herself on the chair outside Kathy’s, “you and Simon had a fight.”

“Why do you _care_?” He snaps, regretting it as soon as her face falls. “Sorry, Tiff. Yeah. We did but we worked it out.”

“So what’s with the sour face? Must be bad if you’re lashing out at me.” There’s hints of humour under her tone, and Callum’s grateful for her.

He considers her question, the frown on her face, and wonders how he could possibly tell her he dreamt of someone else’s mouth and was annoyed that they weren’t there when he woke up.

He’s an awful human being.

“I, I dunno. My head’s all over the place.”

“Has it got something to do with that bloke?”

“What bloke?”

“Ben.” She makes a _duh_ sound, but she softens at his widened eyes and asks gently, “Who is he?”

“My ex.” And he _really_ needs to stop telling people that, because as far as Ben’s concerned, they’re mates now. Mates. With a smudge of history.

“Did you love him?”

Callum ignores the goosebumps on his skin, ignores the way it sounds like he’s forcing out the words he says next. “No. No, we weren’t going out that long.”

“I knew I loved Keegan a few weeks into our relationship.” She smiles at the memory. “You don’t need long when it’s the right person.”

“Yeah,” he responds, sitting up, “I knew with Simon as well.”

Tiffany’s lips press into a thin line, and she nods. “Right. That’s good then.”

“It is.” Callum wants to end this conversation right now.

Tiffany doesn’t agree, if the way she raises her eyebrows is anything to go by, but someone must be on Callum’s side because a leather jacket appears behind her, smiling brightly.

“Callum!” He says, much more enthusiastically than what Callum’d deem is typical of Ben, before Tiffany can open her mouth.

“Hi.” He says in response to Ben’s smile and it’s not _giddy_ that’s shooting through his stomach.

“Hi.”

“Ah. The ex.” Tiffany’s face relaxes, and she grins at Ben when she gets out from her chair, scraping it loudly against the pavement. She waves a goodbye to Callum, smiling like she knows something he doesn’t.

Callum guesses she almost certainly does.

Ben raises an eyebrow, and Callum lifts a shoulder. “Take no notice of her. She can be,” he flails his hands, “odd.”

Ben chuckles. It’s a nice sound.

Not that it matters.

“So you told her we’re exes?”

“We are.”

“Yeah, but we’re-” he says quietly, throwing him a look, “more than that.”

More, how?

More because we used to break the law? Or more because you want to kiss me too?

Callum goes cold.

_Boundaries._

Callum’s rigid in his chair, while Ben’s leaning against the outside wall of the café, not at all looking like he’s implying anything that would ruin Callum’s chances of marrying Simon.

A voice reminds him he’s the worst person in the world.

“Right. We’re mates. Course.”

“Yeah. Mates.” After a second too long, Ben breaks into an easy smile and claps his hands. “I’m glad I caught you, actually, something I wanted to show ya. I’m guessing you don’t have work.”

“Nah, finished early. Only ‘cos Ian’s gonna make me work overtime starting Sunday.”

Ben hums sympathetically, and Callum can’t work out how the two can be related when Ian’s so arrogant and unappealing while Ben’s so – so _Ben._

“I’ll tell Tubbs to bring it over to me mum’s.”

“Bring what over?”

“What I wanna show ya.” Ben says like it’s obvious. “And – we have a job tonight. Casino on Liverpool Street. It’s not the biggest, but I reckon we can rake in some cash.”

He’s already walking away, and Callum scrambles to go catch up to him. Not that it takes too long, what with his legs being much longer. He misses their height difference sometimes.

Not _their_ height difference.

Just _a_ height difference. In a relationship. In general.

 _Focus_. Stuart and Aidan and Ben. “I still need to tell you about that girl, don’t I?”

“Zara?” And Ben’s grin at Callum’s shock is _blinding_. “It’s a long story.”

+

By the time Ben’s unlocking the door to the Beale kitchen, he’s told Callum about Aidan’s visit last night, including the part where he didn’t actually know where Zara was and that Ben may or may not have sent him on a wild goose chase.

Callum reprimands him, “You know he’s just gonna get madder when he realises you’ve lied to him, right?”

Ben smirks, and it gets wider when Callum rolls his eyes, trying to go for exasperation but not getting there.

“Why did he come all the way to tell you that?”

“He’s a twisted criminal.” He shrugs. “Wanted to intimidate me. Let me know he knows where I live or summat. Spent enough time round my dad to know how their brains work.”

Callum goes quiet, watches Ben for a moment. “You never really told me about him.”

This time, Ben rolls his eyes and shoves him up the stairs with the package Tubbs left. “Come on, for the job tonight!”

He smiles to himself as Callum stomps the rest of the way. It’s not endearing. It’s _not_.

It’s nothing but pleasant conversation, pleasant company, pleasant agonising, wrenching in his gut.

Jay’s name blinks on his phone screen, and Ben can feel him judging him from the car lot.

“I can feel you judging me from the car lot.” He announces as he picks up, sitting down on his mum’s sofa.

“I just shifted the red Aygo. Gonna try and get rid of the Focus as well.”

They’ve been trying to sell it for a while now, and for all his unwarranted opinions on Ben’s personal life, he’s pretty good at the job he’s been hired to do.

“And that’s why you called, is it?”

A pause.

“You’re working with him. Getting _shot_ for him. You’re in too deep.”

Ben sighs, loud enough that it’s audible over the phone. Unwarranted opinions.

“Who made you the voice of reason?” He mutters pathetically.

“There’s no way you’ve convinced yourself that this is a good idea.”

“Can you not be my mum for once?”

There’s a longer pause this time.

“Whitney made a pass at me at the dinner.” is what Jay comes out with. It startles a laugh out of Ben. “S’awkward. Had to let her down gently.”

“Girls _are_ odd.”

“Yeah. Could drink to that.”

And then Jay’s voice, an invitation to the Queen Vic maybe, it dwindles and fades into the background and if Jay asks him a question, then forgive Ben for not responding because his mouth has dried up.

“God, this brings me back.” Callum chuckles as he gets to the bottom of the steps. He raises his arms with a _ta da,_ and redoes his black tie, which goes with his black waistcoat and black trousers and Ben’s totally fine with it.

He stands up, taking Callum in, who mutters that it’s a size too small. With a second look, or third but who’s counting, Ben does notice that it stretches across his chest restrictively, and he licks his lips to regain moisture in his mouth.

“Well?” Callum scratches the back of his head. “What d’ya think?”

He can’t say what he thinks. A, that would be completely inappropriate. B, he’s lost the ability to talk.

Ben clears his throat and throws him a shaky thumbs up, and Callum mustn’t be too disheartened at that, because he turns to get them both a beer, and his trousers are hugging all the right places when he reaches into the fridge and _oh God, Ian in lingerie, Ian in lingerie, Ian in lingerie._

They go over the plan after Callum’s changed back into his normal clothes so that Ben’s able to string sentences together, and Callum leaves when Tubbs texts him that he’s ready outside.

+

Callum wipes his hands on his trousers when he’s led to the right instead of the left, dodging the customers who merge into floor length gowns and slicked back hair.

“I thought I was working over there.” He’s surprised when his voice doesn’t falter.

“Nah, got Jamal to do that. You’re gonna be on blackjack for the next few hours.” The manager levels him with a look. “You know how to do blackjack, right?”

“Course.” Callum plasters on a smile.

“Good man.” The manager slaps his shoulder. “Charlie said you’re a good worker. Don’t let me down.”

Callum takes his place behind the casino table, running his hands nervously across the felt.

This wasn’t part of the plan. He was supposed to cover some shifts for baccarat, enough to cover at least two thirds of what Stuart owes Aidan, and slip out.

It’s okay.

They’ve done blackjack before.

He just hopes Ben remembers it.

He spends the next hour winning some games and losing enough to avoid suspicion when Ben comes along, the manager giving him a satisfied nod before he heads off towards the bar.

Without him breathing down his neck, he gets lost in how the cards dance seamlessly between his hands, the spark in his stomach as more chips get pushed his way and stay there, the assortment of customers still as entertaining as they were two years ago.

He forgot how much he enjoyed this.

The way the light bounces off the ornate beams overhead and the excited chatter filling the air around him and the smell of expensive alcohol melding into even more expensive cologne.

The rush through his veins when he wins another round.

For some reason, he knows Ben’s entered the casino, and he doesn’t stop staring until he’s made his way to the table, navy suit and that colour always did look good on him.

“Blackjack?” He’s casual as he sits opposite him, casual enough that the confused lilt of his voice goes undetected by the others at the table.

“Worried you can’t win?” Callum searches his face.

“Nah.” He winks. “Still remember the rules, don’t I?”

It’s all the confirmation he needs, and he deals him in.

+

Callum’s got 21.

People are crowding round the table like vultures. There’s six of them playing but each player seems to have multiple hangers on who have taken it upon themselves to scrutinise the game. Callum itches under every individual pair of eyes.

He presses his left pinkie against the edge of the table, momentarily, before raising his eyebrows at the people around him.

“I’ll hit.” Comes from his right.

“Me too.” Someone at the end.

“Stand.” Ben says.

Some other murmurs, some stands but mostly hits, a chorus of groans when Callum smacks his cards down.

He bites back a smile as more chips are pushed in his and Ben’s direction.

He glances up at Ben, who presses his lips together to suppress it too.

At that moment, the manager saunters towards him, whistling as he approaches the table. “Charlie was right about you. Came to tell you that your shift’s finished. But if you ever wanna work here, well, you’ve got my number.”

They’ve already planned not to go to the same place twice, too risky, but it doesn’t stop him from saying, “I don’t actually.”

“Well then,” he flashes a smile, takes out a business card and presses it in Callum’s breast pocket. “Now you do.”

The dealer for the next shift is here now, and Ben’s glaring at him so he says goodbye and speeds to the toilet where his clothes have been left.

Ben’s still glaring when he meets him outside.

“What?” He sighs, and Ben chews the inside of his lip because it’s not fair that Callum looks just as good in a hoodie and jeans. “I’m sorry, he dragged me to blackjack before I knew what was happening.”

“I ain’t mad about _that_. We’ll just have to do more jobs to make up for it.”

“Then why-”

And Ben tuts loudly, stepping forward to mess his hair up. “Too fancy, don’t want Simon getting suspicious.”

Callum‘s response dies on his mouth, lips parted and Ben can almost see the words resting on the tip of his tongue. Wants to taste them too. The sign for the casino is illuminating, bathes him in a glow, wide eyes strikingly blue.

He stops carding his fingers through Callum’s hair, but doesn’t move backwards just yet, instead takes in the way Callum blinks slowly. Eyelashes dark and fanning the air between them before they part again and Ben’s back to drowning in _blue._

He probably loves blue.

Ben coughs and moves away from his gaze, thanks Heaven when a black cab emerges.

“Your taxi.”

It breaks whatever daze Callum was in, and he thrusts the uniform into Ben’s hands and mutters _thanks_ before he disappears inside it.

A BMW drives up to Ben, and when the windows roll down, he passes him the uniform.

“Hey Tubbs?”

“Yes, boss?” He says, arm hanging out.

“I need you to find someone for me. Zara Highway.”

He lights a cigarette, “Urgently?”

“Yeah. And discreetly.”

“Course.”

Ben’s eyes follow Callum’s taxi, getting sick of the tightness clamping his heart because _why_ _does he always have to watch him leave_.

The taxi driver seems to know where to take him already, and Callum makes a mental note to tell Ben to stop paying for everything.

His leg keeps bouncing up and down in excitement, fingers shaking so his text to Stuart about Zara and the money is riddled with typos, and it’s only when the driver coughs pointedly that he recognises they’ve arrived.

He sorts out his ruffled hair before going inside, running through tracks in his quiff that feel a lot like Ben’s fingertips.

He gives himself one second to let his body buzz with adrenaline, charged at the nerves, before he takes a deep breath and it seeps out with his exhale.

The laughter and conversation ringing in his head don’t die down, and it takes him a moment to place where it’s coming from.

There’s another sound. An undercurrent to the talking. A beat. No. A tapping.

The tapping of what is, unmistakeably, a cane.

There’s a black coat and hat standing out of place in the white kitchen.

“What are you doing here?”

Aidan whips around and breaks into a smile. A wide, toothy smile that’s not a smile at all.

Callum clenches his fists, reminds himself that this is what people like Aidan do. Go round to people’s houses and intimidate them. He just needs to stand his ground, like Ben did.

“What are you doing here?” He repeats through gritted teeth.

“Callum, was it?” He extends a hand, just as Simon closes the fridge and straightens up. Because Simon was in the kitchen too, apparently.

“Callum! You missed dinner, it’s cold now.” He teases, hints of annoyance barely registering in Callum’s head.

He focuses on the hand still in mid-air, reaching out like it wants to strangle Callum rather than greet him.

“I’m Aidan Maguire.”

“Cal, this is my grandad.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully this chapter wasn’t awful? love u all lots for validating my hobby very much


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think [ Marvin’s Room (Drake) ](https://youtu.be/UNKQDWAJg4w) is probably a good song for the beginning-ish bit of this chapter? Put a ** where there’s sexual content. Enjoy :)

_Grandad._

Callum stares at the outstretched hand, the veins bulging out between the folds and wrinkles, his nails bitten to the flesh.

“Nice to meet you.” His head snaps up to the triumphant glint in Aidan’s eyes, lips curling into a smirk.

Callum clamps his palm against his, lifeless as Aidan squeezes it. He doesn’t stop staring at the man, not even when Simon says something to the two of them.

“-lovely. Thanks, boy.” He kisses Simon’s temple, all fatherly and familiar, and Callum wants to retch. “You alright there? You look unwell.”

Callum clenches his jaw, swallowing back a sudden wave of nausea, “M’fine. Nice to meet you too.”

“You are looking a bit green, babe.”

Callum tears his eyes from Aidan to Simon, pulls his mouth into a smile he doesn’t believe in. “M’fine.”

A hand grips his elbows, fingers digging in, “You should get yourself checked out. Won’t be any help to anyone if you’re sick.”

_Won’t be any help to anyone._

Dread swamps over – he recognises Callum.

He grins at him, eyebrows raised in challenge, waits for Callum to respond.

All he can do is gulp back the bile and jolt his head in a nod.

A thousand alarm bells ring in his ears, incessant and frankly a bit too late.

Simon and Aidan resume talking, but Aidan keeps glancing at Callum, at the way he’s clenching his fists, with a blatant glee in his tone.

Callum’s surprised Simon doesn’t pick up on it.

The ringing in his ears becomes a siren, and then it becomes a cacophony, a rumble of sounds from inside the kitchen and from outside the kitchen and of Simon going _grandad, grandad, grandad_.

And they’re talking, have been for some time, while Callum gapes at them.

He can see himself too, in a hazy, bizarre, out-of-body kind of way.

Like watching a pantomime, where Simon and Callum are the unsuspecting main characters and Aidan is the villain, and he’s behind a glass screen screaming “He’s behind you!” but no one hears anything and no one does anything and Callum’s standing still, watching himself watch the two men.

There’s not enough air, he realises, and he struggles to breathe in this warped, vacuum of a room, struggles to make sense of the voices surrounding him. The mixing and merging of something unintelligible belonging to Simon and his Grandad.

 _Grandad_.

“It was good to see you, Callum.” And he’s plunged back into the kitchen, white tiles and white worktops and a white fridge and everything’s white but not Aidan’s hat or his coat or his cane or the dark pupils of his eyes.

“Yeah.” He breathes out, “And you.”

“Let me show you out.” Simon’s voice. And he wants to say _No_ and show him out himself so he can ask him what his game is and how can he be doing all this when he’s got a _grandson_ but he stands there, limp, and Aidan slinks away.

“I might,” he croaks out in the direction of Simon, “I might lie in bed for a bit.”

Callum thinks he might have heard a soft “of course.” And he wants to work out whether it’s scathing or sympathetic but he can’t even mumble a goodnight as his head hits the pillow.

Ben stares up at his living room ceiling, stretched across his sofa with his feet dangling off the armrest, throwing a tennis ball up and catching it as it comes down. He’s been doing so for at least an hour.

The light bulb flickers, casting shadows against the muddy beige of the ceiling, making it look chalky and neglected.

Ben didn’t know ceilings could be so expressive.

There’s a vague pounding in his legs from standing up the whole time he was at the casino, and he prays that he’s not too hungover tomorrow.

His eyes follow the green ball go up to the ceiling and down to his palm, lightbulb spitting out uneven beams of pale white, too intense for three in the morning. He should change the bulb, it’s choking out light rather than emitting it, and it looks ready to die out.

He catches the tennis ball again. Throws it up again.

His mum had said repeating an action several times would bore you to sleep but Ben’s alert as ever.

His mind working at the speed of sound despite his best efforts, awake and churning out all his worst thoughts in one steady production line of Why Being Ben Sucks.

Callum’s at home right now, sleeping besides Simon, while Ben’s alone in a dingy apartment playing catch with himself. Pathetic. The space behind his eyes becomes wet and angry.

He throws the tennis ball up with more power.

His days are spent running after Lexi, and making sure the car lot’s not run to the ground, and playing nice with Simon, and working with Jay, and then working with Callum; and it’s long and tiring and doesn’t give him time to breathe but it means he’s _doing_ and not _thinking_.

But at night, all he _can_ do is think.

And all his thoughts begin and end with blue eyes.

His thoughts emerging from every crevice of his body and pouring into himself and making themselves so glaringly present that Ben can’t ignore them.

God, could Callum not be so _Callum?_ Effortlessly charming in a shy kind of way, like he doesn’t know how ridiculously attractive he is, still so similar to the man Ben fell for two years ago.

And if he weren’t, if he’d replaced even an inch of his personality, this wouldn’t be so difficult.

But as it goes, Ben’s resolve to get over him gets weaker every day.

It’s hard to get over someone when everything you do reminds you of them.

_Callum’d look good in that car I just sold. Callum’d like this sarnie Mum made. Callum’d get along well with Lexi. Callum. Callum. Stupid Callum._

It’s not normal to get hung up on an ex like this. It’s especially not normal to hang out with said ex in such close proximity.

Ben hurls the tennis ball up.

Operation Getting-over-Callum only had one proper step. Distance. And he couldn’t even get that right.

He should have stayed away from the beginning. Like he kept telling himself to. Like _Jay_ kept telling him to. Let him work with Tubbs, or one of his other past accomplices, instead of launching into jobs himself.

He’d told himself it was so he could keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t getting in too deep, but Callum’s a grown man and Ben’s a liar.

Maybe it’s punishment.

The masochist in him reminding him that it’s his fault they’re not together anymore, and the least he could do is deal with the white hot pain that comes with the name ‘Simon.’ 

There it is again.

A clenching around his heart, like some kind of karmic creature digging its talons into it, trying to wrench it out his chest as he gasps for breath, because he doesn’t deserve one.

Doesn’t deserve to have it alive and beating inside of him when he’s been so cruel to Callum.

He saw him.

Afterwards.

Watched him a while, borderline stalked him, spurred on by the masochism thing he’s got going on.

Watched as the bags under his eyes grew darker, and his smile got smaller, and he became…impassive. Hair left unkempt and uniform wrinkled and always late for work, if he turned up at all, until the casino had had enough and told him to sort himself out or leave.

Callum had quit on the spot.

And instead of running to him, instead of crying _I’m sorry_ and making things right because Callum wasn’t half as broken as Ben, he watched Callum get in a car and drive off.

He just let him drive off.

He’s a bad person. A bad boyfriend. He was doing Callum a favour.

He was doing them both a favour.

And that’s what he keeps telling himself as his heart stutters and slows until it doesn’t and it thrashes and fights against his ribcage because it knows it doesn’t belong to him.

It belongs to Callum.

All of him belongs to Callum.

But none of Callum belongs to him.

He launches the tennis ball up higher, the green dangerously close to skimming the plaster on the ceiling.

Callum’s asleep, wrapped up in Simon, and his skin withers where Callum used to touch _him_ as _they_ fell asleep. He can feel the weight of his arms slung over his waist, the breaths in the crook of his neck, ankles crossed over each other.

Does Simon even know how to sleep next to him?

Do his hands find his back, roaming up and down his spine when he’s restless, curving between his shoulder blades when he’s not?

Do his whispers lull him to sleep? Does he kiss his eyelids as they get heavier, until they close?

Does Simon even know to do that?

And when they’re wide awake with nothing to do in the dead of night, do they have sex? Do they make love?

Ben lobs the tennis ball, and it makes an angry sound as it strikes the ceiling, the impact making the light fixture shake.

 ****** Does Simon even know how to make him feel good?

Does he kiss at his throat? His chest? His hip?

Does he even know about the scar below his navel? The birthmark by his calf? How to make his toes curl and his teeth grit? Can he make him groan, dirty and guttural, with just his fingers?

Does he know to kiss him through his orgasm? To tell him how good he was and how good he is and how good he feels and it’s only him, him, _him?_

Do they lie in a heap together, tangled limbs and dishevelled hair and mouths lazy when they slide against each other?

 ****** The tennis ball flies up furiously.

A reel of images flash through Ben’s head.

Callum’s thighs. His swollen lips. Sweat glistening on his chest.

And then, Simon.

Simon, who gets to press his lips wherever and drag his fingertips all over and touch him and adore him and worship him and love him.

Simon, who Callum kisses and holds and loves back.

A loud crash. Glass smashes to the floor.

The tennis ball bounces a bit and rolls away.

The room’s dark now, curtains drawn and without the flickering lightbulb, Ben can’t see.

He hears some remaining glass clink down from the ceiling.

He makes his way blindly to a dustpan and brush to pick up the pieces.

The lightbulb’s broken in front of him, and he can’t fix it, can’t repair it or restore it or glue it all together because he’s never learnt how to.

So he just throws the shards away.

It’s only when he finally dozes off, somewhere between dreaming and not, that the little pinpricks left by the glass start to sting.

+

_Don’t tell me any details._

Does this count as a detail?

Callum thinks it over as he stands in the kitchen of Ian’s restaurant.

He’s been thinking it over since Saturday night and now it’s Tuesday morning.

He was thinking it over at the breakfast table, sat across Simon, bringing the spoonful of cereal to his lips as he talked his ear off about…

About what?

He zoned back in. “You should take the day off. You’re still looking a bit peaky.” Simon kissed his forehead, transferring the coffee lingering on his lips that Callum wiped off when he had his back turned.

“Can’t. Day three of the reveal, so we’re gonna be rushed off our feet again. _Ian’s signature sirloin._ ” He didn’t grumble but he might have pouted a bit because all Ian did was slap his name on the thing.

“He’s not that bad, you know.”

Callum had snorted at that, even Ben would disagree, and he’s related to the man. He hadn’t voiced this out loud, just hummed as Simon called a ‘Love you!’ when he left.

But he’s thinking it again now as Ian and a leggy brunette stroll into the kitchen.

“And this,” he gestures with a pompous hand, “is where the magic happens.”

She giggles into her palm, speaks in a French accent that Ian pretends to understand, and Callum clears his throat.

“Oh! Lana, meet my head chef. Callum, Lana. Lana, Callum.”

Lana offers her hand, and Callum’s eyebrows climb his forehead as he realises she expects him to kiss it. He holds her offered hand between his fingers and shakes it with an awkward smile directed at the lipstick on her teeth.

Lana turns to Ian. “So, Ian, will you show me around?”

Ian’s face brightens, and he takes her through the kitchen, knocking into the array of staff cooking their way through the menu.

Callum blows air through his nose and rubs at his temples, trying not to let Lana’s accent bother him. He should be overjoyed that Ian’s found someone as insufferable as he is and he might leave Callum alone now.

On the other hand, Lana calls out “Ciao, Colin!” as Ian makes eyes at her and he tries not to strangle him with an apron.

It only gets worse when Ian hands him his RSVP for the wedding, the cursive of _Simon Maguire and Callum Highway request your attendance_ mocking him.

Simon Maguire.

How could he be so stupid?

“Bye, Lana!” Ian calls, sickly sweet, and Callum’s two seconds away from brandishing the steak knife.

He’s saved from any more homicidal ideation when his phone buzzes. _Job on Wednesday night._

He wonders what Ben would do if he found out his niece was being threatened by his fiancé’s grandad. It’s a weird thought but he imagines Ben’s face wrinkling in disgust and it comforts him somehow.

Ben’ll know what to do about this.

“Callum! Back to work!” Ian claps his shoulder, apparently remembering he has a job now that Lana’s gone. “You can text Simon later.”

“Simon?”

“Yeah.” Ian crosses his arms and adopts the look of a wise monk. “Your whole face lit up when he texted, it was pretty obvious. Ah, young love! You know what the French call it? Armour da sheet.”

Callum ignores what he’s said, ignores the uncomfortable squirm under his skin, stuffs the whole thing deep deep down beneath levels of _Ian’s only being Ian again_ and _he’s just as pleased when Simon texts too._

Besides, he’s pretty sure it’s _not_ called Armour da sheet.

Ben bounces on his heels while he clutches Lexi’s hand, glancing at his watch.

Finally, the classroom door opens and Lexi blows Ben a kiss as she goes in, giggling when he catches it.

Kieran’s there, with his palm flat against the door handle.

Ben forgot all about him, if he’s honest, but here he is, smiling expectantly and a voice (or Jay’s voice, he shudders in realisation) convinces him that Kieran might be a good idea.

His resolve to get over Callum may not be so weak after all.

“Alright?” He scratches the back of his neck.

“Ah, so you’re not avoiding me?” He laughs.

“Just been a bit hectic.” _Understatement._ “And I’m sorry about cancelling last minute.

“It’s okay, you’re busy, I get it.” He turns away.

“Wait! Actually, um,” Kieran pauses, halfway into the classroom, “Why don’t I make it up to ya? Tonight? A date that I’ll actually come to.”

Kieran perks up, and he looks quite handsome when he does actually, and says “I’ll text ya.”

Ben’s not smug on his way to work. It can’t be helped that he’s able to bag a date even though he left them hanging last time. It distracts him from the cuts all over his fingers and the prickling inside his chest. Distracts him for about three minutes.

+

Outrageous lighting of red and gold illuminates the pavement Callum steps out on, paving the way towards the casino, crisp air hugging him as he does so.

Adrenaline’s pumping through him, zips at his feet, making him walk faster. The expectation, the excitement, of what’s to come rushing in his ears.

His chest swells as he spots the outline of Ben outside the staff entrance, hands stuffed in his pockets and staring at his feet.

The sound of Callum’s footsteps causes him to lift his head up, and he breaks into a grin as soon as a stroke of light bounces off of Callum’s face.

The light moves on, caresses the side of Ben’s face, the rest of him hidden under the roof eave. It makes his eyes gleam momentarily and does absolutely nothing to Callum’s pulse.

“I’ll never get tired of seeing you in a waistcoat.”

“Shut up.” He mutters, ignoring the heat on his cheeks.

Ben winks and turns to open the door.

“Callum? Callum Highway?”

It’s a loud voice and both men turn to find its owner. Callum sees a row of grinning teeth and suddenly he’s being engulfed by outstretched arms. He widens his eyes at Ben, who raises an eyebrow, lips twitching upwards.

“Alright, Chris?” Callum says once he’s been released.

“Yeah! Good, really good! What you doing here?”

“I’m just, uh, I’ve been put down to do a shift.”

Should he have said that? Chris knows him. Knows his name. And he’s been given a fake ID to pull this off.

Chris considers him for a moment and, that’s it, he’s been found out, when Chris nods, “Oh? Thought you left this behind a while back.”

He walks past him and moves to open the door, inadvertently pushing Ben out the way. Ben quirks an eyebrow up in amusement again, and they follow Chris inside.

“Be good to have you back.” He says as they round a corner to another identical corridor. “You used’ta be a great worker. Even if ya never followed the staff-only rule for your room.”

He says it without any malice, but Callum coughs out an apology anyway, making it a point to ignore the smirk that Ben’s wearing.

They stop at an office door, Chris holding up a finger to tell them to wait outside.

Callum shuffles his feet. This is not good. At all. He _needs_ this to work. For Stuart’s sake. It’s just his luck that his old boss found him. It’s like someone’s out to get him. Scratch that. Someone _is_ out to get him. His fiancé’s _grandad_.

Jumbled words in Simon’s voice ping about in his skull.

_Cal, this is my grandad. Cal, my grandad. Grandad. My grandad. This is my granddad. Cal, grandad. Grandad. Grand. Dad._

And Chris is behind the office door and he’s going to find something and Callum’s going to get caught and so will Ben because he dragged him into this and his breaths shallow.

“Hey.”

Callum’s head snaps up to Ben’s. He tilts his head at him with a half-concerned smile. “It’s gonna be okay, yeah?”

It’s hushed, almost whispered, but it’s confident. Callum nods back at Ben.

Chris comes out then, clicking his tongue at the clipboard he’s carrying. “Can’t find your name on here, mate. It don’t say anything about cover at all, actually.”

“You sure there ain’t been a mistake?” He tries.

“Nah, I keep on top of things now.” He laughs.

Callum answers with his own, stilted laugh. “Never thought I’d see the day. It’s just I was told there was a shift going.”

“Who sent ya?”

“Um,” he sends Ben a panicked glance, whose furrowing his brows, and _shit_ , if Ben looks worried, then he definitely should be. “Charlie.”

Chris pauses to think. “He did say something about a Bill. Nothing about you, though, I’d have remembered otherwise.”

A driver’s licence belonging to a man with Callum’s face and the name Bill Temench burns a hole in his back pocket, and he gulps back the smarting as he looks at Chris’ apologetic expression.

“I’m sorry Callum, and I’d have let ya work in place of this Bill fella if I could. But the rules are stricter now, and the higher ups get on my arse if I don’t follow them.”

Callum’s brain whirs with What am I gonna do?, his back moistening with sweat while his mouth dries up. Funny that.

He wants to respond, _needs_ to solve this, make at least one aspect of his life go right, but his brain isn’t _working_ right now.

“No worries, mate.” Ben says. Wait, what? “Must’ve been a mistake. Sorry for wasting your time, yeah?”

What’s he doing?

“Not at all.” Chris claps their back, pushing an _oof_ out of Ben. “You’re both welcome to stay, I’ll even tell the servers to slip you some free bubbly.”

They’re escorted out onto the plush carpeting of the casino and, as the doors behind them swing close, Callum turns to Ben.

“Why’d ya do that? We’re behind on a job now. We need as much money as _possible_ , Ben, remember? You know what’s on the line, you _know_ and you just,” he takes in a breath, “We coulda convinced him. You should’ve let me. Why didn’t ya let me?”

Ben’s forehead creases. “We’ll get the money together, Cal, don’t worry about that. And I bought us some time, didn’t I?”

“But why didn’t ya just let me speak?”

He’s breathless and exhausted and being unfair but his fiancé’s related to a real life Disney villain and he’s not even allowed to bring it up because Simon doesn’t want to know any details and Callum’s drowning in the secrets he’s being forced to keep.

“Callum!” Ben’s clasping his hands around his arms, shaking him a bit. “Calm down or you’re gonna have a panic attack or summat. Breathe.”

The crease by his brows deepens, his eyes peering into Callum’s as if he’s figuring something out. Endlessly blue and clouded, fixed in position as he figures Callum out.

“Breathe, alright? Please.”

Callum’s chest rises and falls with Ben’s, breathing the same air as him, stares into pools of blue.

Aidan’s too busy sending his lackeys to Cardiff, and he hadn’t hinted that he was going to strangle money out of Stuart in the near future, so they _do_ have time. Enough time to get the money together. Enough time for Callum to work out the whole grandad bullshit. Enough time to breathe.

“Sorry.” He mumbles.

Ben feels the word fall from his lips straight onto his own mouth. _Distance._ Ben grumbles internally, since when did Jay become his inner voice?

“Let’s get you home.” And Callum’s breath hitches. Only for a second, only noticeable if you were a few inches from him and staring, mapping his movements for any signs of discomfort. “But first,” Ben amends, “Let’s take up your friend’s offer, yeah? I could do with some free champagne.”

Callum nods, his lips twist before spreading into a smile, and Ben steps backwards and lets go of his arms because he’ll forget himself if Callum keeps smiling down at him like that.

“Come on then, waistcoat. Let’s get drunk!”

Callum chuckles, and it echoes in Ben’s eardrums and flips in his stomach.

And that’s how they find themselves cheering around a roulette table, alcohol bumbling through their bloodstream and droning out any sensibilities Callum should have as someone with inside knowledge on how casinos work.

“Red!” Callum shouts, shoving a dangerously high amount of chips into the middle.

Ben brings some back in, steeling himself against Callum’s pout.

Honestly, what grown man pouts and gets away with it?

“I wanna go all in!” He crosses his arms and stares Ben down.

“Cal, we can’t go all in.”

“We should!”

Stupid, pouting, full, kissable lips.

“Fine! All in!”

Callum cheers, as do a couple of people around him, and they grip the edge of the roulette table. Their sides are pressed against each other and Ben can hear Callum muttering ‘C’mon, c’mon’.

His eyes follow the ball, it spins and rolls between the colours, lolling left and right and…

There’s hooting all around, and Callum shakes Ben by the shoulders. “I told ya!” He keeps repeating as a million sparks charge through Ben and he laughs loudly. “Too bad it ain’t worth much. I’m getting another drink!”

Ben stands there a moment, butterflies flapping violently in his stomach and everywhere else, smiles as Callum make small talk with everyone he bumps into.

This is bad. This is so bad. And then Callum turns, waving wildly at Ben, beer threatening to spill, and how could the wildfire spreading through his body possibly be bad?

“Come on,” he gestures to the restaurant connected to the casino, rolling his eyes, “Let’s get some food in ya. You’re a disaster when you’re pissed.”

“Oh, you love it.” He hiccups, grinning.

 _Yeah._ His insides shattering. _Yeah._

+

“I think the waiter’s judging me for not having a diamond encrusted hearing aid.” Ben scowls, stuffing sea bass in his mouth.

Callum’s almost sober now, only dizzy because of the overpowering cologne from said waiter.

He tilts his head at Ben, who’s watching him tuck into his meal. “What?”

“Nothing, you just look like you haven’t eaten all day.” He shrugs in response. “You ain’t eaten? You work in a _restaurant_!”

Callum laughs, “Ain’t had the time, we did our reveal, didn’t we? Rushed off our feet.”

He leaves the _Aidan was on my mind the whole time_ unsaid.

“I’m gonna have a word with Ian.” Ben huffs, and it sounds so final that Callum smiles into his king prawns. “So, what’s it like, working in a restaurant?”

His insides flutter at the question. It’s such a typical first date question.

Not that –

This isn’t –

This isn’t a _date._

What’s wrong with him?

“Uh, it’s good. Really good. Fun as well. I love working there. Ian may be a pain, but he helped me work my way up to head chef.”

“Yeah, I always thought you’d be good at it.” Callum knows this, can picture the handwriting on the letter saying the same thing.

Ben’s smiling now, as if Callum’s only a chef because of Ben. “All right, no need to be smug.”

“Smug? I ain’t –” and the smile drops off his face. “I ain’t smug. I’m proud.”

That’s unexpected.

“Proud?”

“Yeah,” he shifts in his seat. “You worked hard and now you’re getting to do a job that you love. Not many people can say the same. It’s, uh, it’s pretty cool. So I’m proud of ya.”

“Oh.” Callum looks down, warmth blooming. “Thanks.”

It’s a weird, nervous atmosphere and Callum’s not used to it. Not with Ben of all people, at least not anymore.

He looks over at a lady with a chihuahua in her purse and tilts his head in her direction.

Ben turns around, not at all subtle, and it’s not _cute_ so Callum doesn’t know why that word popped into his head, and then turns back with a frown.

“I need glasses,” he explains, “There was this menu on the wall of a bar I was in yesterday and I thought the booze was the reason it was all blurry, so I’m squinting, right? And then Kieran went ‘here, try my glasses’ and,” he snaps his fingers, “it’s like everything started to make sense. I’m basically blind.”

“Who’s Kieran?” He asks politely, if a little too quickly, thumping his chest because the fish got lodged in his throat.

“Lexi’s teacher. Only for bit though, maternity cover, so it’s not like we’re breaking any rules by going out.”

Oh.

So Ben went _out_ out with this Kieran. To a bar.

That’s fun _._

A pang of irritation settles in his chest, because he spent last night dealing with the whole grandad epiphany while Ben was doing _whatever_ with Kieran. Probably took him home and all, knowing Ben.

“Sounds like you had a good time.”

“Yeah, weren’t too bad.” Ben says, as if he isn’t comparing last night to right now. Not tallying up all the ways being with Callum is much more fun.

But Callum’s pushing the food around his plate with his fork, movements jerky, and that won’t do.

He leans forward and swipes a chip from his plate.

“Hey!” Callum says, affronted. “You can’t do that!”

Ben scrunches his nose, “Ain’t eaten all day either.”

Callum rolls his eyes, but the tension’s left his shoulders, and he chokes on the tap water (“No more wine.” “But-” “No, Cal.”) when Ben mimics the lady and her chihuahua despite his blindness.

She reminds him of Lana, and he recounts their meeting yesterday to an increasingly entertained Ben.

“Oh God,” he laughs, “It’s like two Ians!”

And he glimmers from the inside when Ben wipes tears from his eyes.

+

They can see their breaths, that’s how cold it is, Ben notes as they wait outside.

Callum’s shivering and Ben has to stop himself from doing something ridiculous like offering him his suit jacket.

“You know,” he says, to stop any more ridiculousness, “you should teach me some card tricks. In case something like this happens again, so I can fill in as the dealer instead.”

Callum raises his eyebrows. “Don’t tell me you’ve got a pack of cards on you.” He shakes his head when Ben brings some out.

“Well?”

Ben watches him, sees resignation pour into his eyes.

“Fine. How ‘bout a false shuffle? That way the cards are always in the order you began with.”

Callum starts explaining the science, or the maths, behind it and he may as well be speaking in Chinese but his eyes light up and that’s all that matters really.

He thrusts the deck into Ben’s hands. “Okay, you know how to shuffle, right?”

Ben nods, mixes the cards up, but this is wrong for some reason and Callum tuts.

“You gotta hold it like this.” He mutters and puts his hands around Ben’s to position them into a tilt which is fine and normal and no, Ben’s not thinking about how much bigger his hands are. “Now make a cut in the cards.”

Ben complies as Callum concentrates on the movement of his hands.

“Right, so this cut, you want to bring half your cards to the front, but you wanna remember where you cut it. So, leave a gap, push it with your middle finger so your audience can’t see.” Ben tries to do so. “No, not too much, more natural like-”

He narrows his eyes, his index and thumb wrapping around Ben’s middle finger. Slowly, he closes the gap, pressing his finger against the cut he made.

“Like that.” He whispers.

And it buzzes in the air, sparks under the skin Callum’s touching, spikes of electricity exploding in his stomach.

It’s just a card trick, Ben tells himself, swallowing.

“Now, you just use your thumb to run the cards,” he taps Ben’s thumb and _yep_ , another explosion, “and then it looks like you’ve messed them up when you haven’t.”

Ben runs the cards. He’s not that good, certainly not as good as Callum, but Callum smiles.

“You’re doing it.” Callum’s smile widens when Ben looks away, and it’s _nice_ to let him in on the secret. Even if it’s as simple as a card trick.

The card makes a rippling sound as Ben gets the hang of it, and just for a minute, everything, _everything,_ stops. Ian and Aidan and Simon and Stuart stop existing and there’s nothing but the sound of cards fluttering and splicing the cold air.

Callum steps back, watches Ben shuffle the cards, his eyes shimmering blue and brighter than the moon above them.

Ben exhales when he takes a step back too, feeling the heaviness in the air start to evaporate.

This is going too far. He’s about one second away from taking Callum’s hand and dragging him somewhere Simon can’t reach him.

He composes himself, ready to tell him.

He’s going to tell him that from now on, he can do the jobs with someone else. Make some excuse about having too much on at the car lot because he’s going to snap in two pretending Callum isn’t what he wants.

Callum stirs to speak. “Thanks for this. Today. And all the other days. Helping me out. I don’t think I’d be able to go through with any of it without you.”

Ben’s mind blanks out.

What was he going to say?

“You’re a good mate.” Callum continues. “Thanks.”

There’s a beat of silence, where Ben convinces himself his heartache _isn’t_ audible, and Callum convinces himself he hasn’t made it awkward by thanking him.

Ben shuffles the cards again, casual like he’s not digging up Callum’s insides when he asks, “You gonna tell me what’s been bothering you, now?”

Ben’s asking, the thought makes him fuzzy and maybe he’s looking into it too much, but Ben’s _asking_ when Callum’s been told to keep it to himself.

Ben keeps his eyes on Callum, questioning and earnest, so he tells him.

He tells him the whole thing because he asked, words spilling out in a flurry of sentences that probably don’t make sense.

And Ben grits his teeth, pushing the cards into his pockets so he can clench and unclench his fists as Callum talks about Aidan and Grandad and everything else building up from Saturday night.

He finishes, expecting to be relieved now that the weight is off his shoulders, but now he’s placed it all on Ben and that’s not fair.

“Hey,” Callum feels a hand on his arm, “you should tell Simon about him.”

“He don’t wanna know about all this. It’s too much. I shouldn’t put this on you either.”

And Ben shakes his head, “No, you haven’t _put_ anything on me. We’re doing this together, right? That means you tell me things. And Simon, he may not wanna know, but it involves him, so he has to be told.”

Why does Ben make sense?

Callum sighs. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell him. And I thought he was the one marrying into a crazy family.”

Ben removes his hand.

Leaves goosebumps.

“Why didn’t you tell me the night it happened?”

Callum shrugs, “I dunno, I guessed, if Simon don’t care, why would you?”

Ben blinks, eyes stricken and…angry? What’s he got to be angry about?

He opens his mouth but a car horn drowns out the beginning of his sentence. He bites his lip, waves a hand at the driver. “That’s your ride.”

“What were you gonna say?”

Ben’s stare flits across Callum’s face, then something shutters in his expression and he breaks into a small smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “It was nothing. Now go, Tubbs will be here soon.”

And Callum leaves, unsettled and a sensation sitting in his gut he doesn’t admit is loneliness until he creeps into Simon’s bed that night, too tired to lock up the part of his conscience threatening to reveal why.

He’s left his phone on the coffee table again, afraid he’ll text Ben goodnight, which is a bad idea for reasons he doesn’t even know yet.

It lights up with a message anyway.

_Night, Cal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Callum’s relationship balances on a fine line of trying to be realistic but also not repetitive, and honestly I can’t tell if I’m pulling it off anymore. Anyways, thank you for reading, you're amazing and i love you x


	11. Chapter 11

Ben checks his watch. 9.34am. Time really does drag when you’re not having fun.

Lexi, on the pitch, hollers as she kicks away a ball getting dangerously close to her team’s makeshift goalposts and turns to grin at Ben.

He gives her a wide smile in return watching as she turns away, determination etched on to her face.

He lets his gaze trail to the proper football pitch behind. Linger on Callum, who’s jogging up and down the AstroTurf in shorts.

Someone clears their throat.

“Something caught your eye?” A redhead in makeup smiles up at him, taking steps towards him while avoiding the muddy patches of the grass.

“No – I was just-” He stumbles, guilty all of a sudden. “Tiffany, weren’t it?”

She nods as she stands beside him. “I never really got football. But men in shorts, eh?”

He huffs, trying not to stare at a particular man in shorts.

A dark-haired boy, not looking much older than Tiffany, turns and throws her a wink. She laughs and waves.

“That your fella?”

“Yeah, he’s my husband.” She says proudly. Ben widens his eyes. “Yeah I know, we’re really young and all that.”

“I weren’t judging.” He starts, unsure of why he’s desperate not to offend her. “You do realise you’re stuck with him for the rest of your life?”

Tiffany laughs again, “For better or worse, innit?”

He shrugs.

“Who you here for?”

He points at Lexi. “That’s my daughter.”

“She’s beautiful.”

He smiles. “Yeah. Well, takes after me, don’t she?”

Tiffany laughs at that.

A silence spreads then, slightly awkward, until her husband howls, and it catches both their eyes. Callum’s right next to him, and the boy gives him a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

Ben’s jaw tightens.

Tiffany chuckles, “I think I’ve got something to worry about.”

Ben hums, shrugging. He’s still staring at Callum, who’s turned around now and engulfing the others in a group hug.

“Can’t say I blame him, Callum’s gorgeous, ain’t he?” Tiffany carries on.

Ben swallows. “I dunno.”

“He’s your ex, ain’t he?”

He glances her way, saying nothing.

“Right, none of my business, sorry.” She chews her lip, looking put out, it reminds him of Lexi after she’s been told off.

Ben feels bad all of a sudden. He sighs. “No, you’re alright. Yeah – yeah he is. Been ages, though. Weren’t even going out for long.”

Tiffany nods, “He said that too.” She narrows her eyes at him, and he shifts, feeling very much like he’s under some kind of scrutiny. “I don’t think it matters how long you’re going out. I married Keeg without it being years into our relationship.”

“Right, well, I appreciate that but-”

He stops as Tiffany puts a hand on his shoulder and fixes him with a look. “We shouldn’t have worked, you know? He was super off limits, and we both had our own problems and – anyways, we found each other. I remember really wishing it could be someone else – save me the hassle but,” she shrugs, “I couldn’t love no one else like I love him. And,” she smiles again, “No one else can love him like I love him, neither.”

“Was that your vows?”

“Nah, but it should have been.” She grins. The whistle blows and she exhales, “Right, that’s me off.”

He wants to stop her, ask her what she _knows_ and why she’s telling him all this, but it’s not his place, is it?

“It was nice to meet ya.”

“Same here.” She presses her lips together and rests a hand lightly above his elbow. “I think you can tell, you know?”

“Hmm?”

“You can fall in love a bunch of times, but when it’s them, you just know that no one can love them like you.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, and she nods, “Well, I guess you got lucky that he loved you back.” He smiles, the corners of his lips tugging downwards of their own accord.

“Destiny ain’t that cruel. I think they always love you back.”

He shakes his head, “Destiny don’t exist, it’s just the right person and the right time. It’s luck.”

“In that case,” she takes her hand off after squeezing his arm slightly, “when you’ve got the right person in front of you, take that chance. See if you get lucky.”

Her husband calls out to her, and she yells a ‘Coming!’ and waves goodbye to Ben.

Right, well, nothing like a pep talk from a teenager to start off a Saturday morning.

The boy claps Callum on the back, and then Simon comes up to him to give him a kiss on the cheek. He must have taken the grandad thing well.

Ben sighs and watches Lexi run circles around the other team. He _is_ lucky, he’s got some semblance of a family again. Phil’s out of his life. And the person he used up all his love on? He’s happy.

He can’t let himself think otherwise.

His phone pings at the exact second Lexi barrels into him, “We won, daddy!”

“Yes, I can see that, princess.” He laughs, picking her up and spinning her around. “You’re a little star, ain’t ya?”

She lets out a breathless, “I’m getting dizzy!” in between giggles and he sets her down with a kiss on the top of her head.

He kneels down to say something, tell her he’s proud of her, because he _is_ , when he sees Callum watching him past her shoulder.

Callum starts when Ben catches his eye, and smiles shyly before looking away, and Ben’s repeating Tiffany’s words to himself.

He grins, gives his daughter a hug, and then checks his phone.

The grin falls off.

_Unknown: Time’s ticking, I want the money by the end of next week. All of it._

He doesn’t need to work out who it’s from.

He looks back up to spot Callum, who’s got his back turned to him. He digs his phone out of his sports kit and Ben watches his back straighten.

No doubt he also got his text.

He dials a number.

“Hey Tubbs, remember that warehouse in Camden you were talking about? I reckon you’re gonna need more muscle.”

+

“It’s an easy job, I promise.” Tubbs says.

“Well, Stu?”

Ben looks from Tubbs to Callum to Stuart.

They’re in the car lot, and Stuart’s made himself comfy in _Ben’s_ chair as he gulps down a coffee, while Callum is sitting on the row of seats on the left, and Tubbs is going through the plan on the whiteboard next to him.

He leans against Jay’s desk which, worryingly, is clear of paperwork. He should talk to him about that.

Stuart throws Callum a heavy look but then closes his eyes and nods. “Fine, for Zara.”

“And look mate, this ain’t just gonna pay off your debt. It will set you up for life.” Tubbs grins. “It’s gonna set us all up for life.”

Stuart smiles a bit at that, wonky and unnatural to look at, but Ben assumes it’s a smile. “We’ll get the money quick, right? Before he even works out that you lied about where she is?”

Ben tries to nod as confidently as possible.

“Okay, for this to work, we just need one more thing.” Tubbs says, clapping his hands together. “There’s a key. And there’s only one of it. But,” Tubbs smiles triumphantly, “I know where it is.”

“So you want us to steal it?” Callum pipes up.

“Nah, not steal it. Just make a copy.” Tubbs throws Callum an impressioning kit. He catches it with one hand, which isn’t hot.

Tubbs shows the three men a website on his phone, “This is where Mrs Deol will be, it’s her warehouse. Well, her business. She’s hosting a charity gala Friday night. It’s easy, get into her purse and get the key, and put it back before she finds out.”

Ben squints at the screen, _The Rembrandt Hotel_ fills half the screen in bold letters and a picture of an excessively furnished ballroom takes up the other, but his attention is drawn to the text at the bottom. “Uh little problem, mate. It says invite only.”

Tubbs fishes out an envelope from the pocket of his leather jacket, rolling his eyes. “Sorted.”

He hands it to Ben.

“Bryn? Bryn Maddox?” Ben wrinkles his nose.

Tubbs shrugs, “He’s Welsh.” Ben passes Callum the invitation, _Charles Maddox,_ and listens to Tubbs fill them in on their backstory. He makes a note of everything important he hears.

One - the Maddox siblings have never met Mrs Deol before, but they’ve been generous benefactors for her sister in the past, and this is the first gala they’ve been invited to.

Two - they’ve also been invited to the brunch the next morning, so they’re staying in one of the ‘Grand Rooms’.

Three - the room is massive.

Tubbs shows Stuart a picture of it, and he wolf whistles before passing the phone to Callum.

This time it’s a hotel room with a giant bed in the middle.

“What about my room?” Ben asks.

“You’re sharing a room. And a bed.” Tubbs says, like it’s obvious.

“Bit weird innit, for brothers to be sharing a bed?”

“Brothers?” Tubbs snorts. “The Maddoxes are married.”

_Married_.

Ben’s heart stops.

Then it tumbles out of his ribcage and lands in the floor in front of him with a heavy thud.

He chances a look at Callum, mouth sucked of moisture and a _thump thump thump_ at the back of his throat.

Callum’s flushing a violent shade of scarlet and staring right at Tubbs with widened eyes and a look of terror.

It twists at Ben for a bit, because is it really that awful to pretend to be married to him? But then he turns to see Tubbs holding out a pair of gold rings, and _yeah_ , this is awful.

“That ain’t a problem, is it?” Stuart asks, eyeing Callum.

He snaps his head to his brother, and Ben watches him pull on a smile, “Nah. No problem.”

“It’ll be fine.” Ben finds his voice. “We’ll be like those married couples who hate each other’s guts.”

He tries to blend humour into his tone, but Callum winces.

“Not that – not like that’s what you and Simon are going to be.” Ben stumbles out with realisation. “I just – I just meant like those old couples who are always arguing.”

Tubbs throws him a look, like he’s embarrassed for him, and Ben shuts up.

“Tubbs, just go through the plan one more time.” Stuart says, also looking very sorry for Ben.

“Right, so this warehouse. Camden.”

Tubbs keeps talking, something about _safes_ and _vans_ and a repeat of everything Ben already knows.

Ben’s mind wanders away from the car lot, and talks of _The Rembrandt_ and Camden, goes away from Walford. Goes back in time. Before he met Jay, before he moved, before he made the worst mistake of his life.

He thinks back to yesterday morning, with Tiffany and talks of destiny.

“Right, everyone got it?”

Ben nods, how hard can a warehouse hit be?

It’s Friday night and the brunch afterwards that he needs to worry about.

Tubbs puts the marker down on the table with a smack, snapping Ben out of it.

Callum’s already making to get up, resigned as he agrees to drive Stuart home.

He watches as Ben turns to dust his chair before he takes a seat.

“See ya,” he nods at him, swallowing down thoughts of husbands.

Ben’s face softens and he nods.

Callum lets it settle for a moment, this weird comforting thing that happens when Ben looks at him, before Stuart’s shoving him out the door and asking about Simon.

And then it’s replaced.

It’s guilt trickling down his spine and bursting by his feet as he steps toward his car.

“Simon’s fine, thanks Stu.” He forces out with gritted teeth.

“I know he don’t like me much, but that just mean he’s a good fella. You’d have to be nuts to like me.”

“I like you.”

“Well, there you go then.”

Callum makes an affronted noise at that, buckling his seatbelt as Stuart sits in the passenger’s seat.

“That bloke that I shot, though.”

Callum goes rigid. “What about Ben?”

“I been asking around about him.”

“You what?”

“Just the locals.” Stuart breathes in, “Ben Mitchell is bad news.”

“He’s the reason we’re almost out of this mess. Which, you created, by the way.”

“I know, and I’m grateful but-”

At the pause, Callum looks sideways at his brother, whose eyes bounce around as if he’s trying to work out what to say.

“I just think Ben’s dangerous. And Simon’s good. Decent.”

“Why are you telling me this anyway? I know both of them better than you do.”

“I just don’t want you to,” and he keeps hesitating as he talks, and it’s almost annoying. “Thought you might need an outside opinion. In case you were to – in case your judgement got clouded.”

“Stuart, whatever you’re implying-”

“I ain’t tryna-”

“Ben’s just the guy who’s helping us with some dodgy jobs. Nothing else. I’m marrying _Simon_ , in case you forgot. So just leave it, alright?”

“All right.” He says, and Callum glances at him again to make sure he’s being sincere.

He is.

+

Ben takes in a deep breath, presses his palms against his suit jacket, feels the wool-blends cushioned under his touch. _Yeah_ , this suit is expensive.

He pats his pockets as he locks the door behind him. Keys, check. Phone, check. Fake ID, check.

He inhales again when he opens the main door.

The moon’s out already, twinkling against the roof of the black Sedan that Stuart kindly returned.

The door opens, and a trouser leg comes out first. And then, the rest of him.

Callum puts a hand in his pocket and the other unbuttons his tailored jacket. It fits him better than the last one.

Ben gulps, eyes starting at his shoulders and going down.

The light grey material tapers at the waist, blowing in the wind, and he’s wearing a white button down underneath, the moonlight bouncing off the buttons.

His trousers are the same light grey colour, pin straight and hitting his ankles, hitting the dress shoes he’s got on.

“Engine’s still running.” Callum says.

Ben blinks, snapping his eyes up to him, which look dark in the moonlight. Something flickers in them before they clear, and he nods towards the car with a soft smile.

_God, I want to kiss you._

Instead, he nods and speed walks to the passenger seat, looking out the window.

Just a gala and a brunch.

He can do this.

“You’re already wearing it.” Comes Callum’s gruff voice from the other side of the car, and he glances at Ben’s hands.

He looks down at the band around his finger and shrugs, “Part of the outfit.”

Callum nods.

“Ain’t weird, is it?” Ben asks, trying to stamp down the hope in his voice.

Callum shakes his head.

Ben sighs loudly from his left, “What is it?”

He shakes his head again, mutters a “Nothing.”

Callum stares ahead.

Tries to remind himself he’s in the present.

Not scamming people out of money for fun in one casino or another, not kissing each other in hotel rooms until they’re breathless, not watching Ben’s chest rise and fall as he thinks he’s found his forever. He’s not that Callum anymore, right? He’s grown up.

He’s not the naïve guy he was when he thought that _this_ could have been them. With real rings.

He blows out an angry breath. What is _wrong_ with him?

“Callum?”

“I’m fine.”

“Callum.”

Callum glances at Ben, who stares right back with his lips in a straight line and his hair gelled up and wearing a maroon suit that would look ridiculous on anybody else and _get it together._

“Simon’s at home.” He blurts, fixing his eyes on the road ahead of him.

That came out of nowhere.

“Right,” he replies, drawing the word out, “this is just like pretending to be a casino dealer, okay? It ain’t real. And – and we don’t have to be all romantic or nothing. Yeah?”

Callum nods, because all the thoughts in his head are swirling incoherently and he can’t really work out why he’s upset and not guilty.

Or, maybe, he can work it out.

And he doesn’t want to think _that_ way.

“I’m doing this for Stuart.” He says, to Ben, or maybe to himself. “And Zara.”

“What did he say?” Ben says, sounding clipped. “Simon – about the whole thing.”

Callum makes a right turn.

Ben makes an incredulous sound. “You ain’t told him?”

He shrugs. “Ain’t had a chance.”

“You’ve had nine days.”

“Well, it’s a bit hard to bring up in the middle of dinner, Ben.” He grinds his teeth, but he’s not even mad at _Ben,_ only annoyed at himself for being a coward about the whole thing.

Ben sucks air in between his teeth. “Ya can’t keep it from him. I mean, you could, but let’s face it, you’re a shit liar and you’ll just feel guilty the whole time.”

He’s not wrong.

God, why does he have to know him so well?

Callum glances at Ben’s side profile, the gold ring as he scratches his right cheek, sighs in defeat. “I’ll tell him. Eventually.”

Ben nods, and that’s all they say about that.

“You know,” Ben starts, and it’s heavily inappropriate, but then again, so is Ben, “If you tell him looking like that, I don’t think he’ll kick up a fuss.”

Callum flushes as he makes a particularly abrupt left turn into the hotel’s parking lot.

“You reckon we’re in the right place?” Ben smirks, as Callum locks the car, looking up at the sparkling letters of _Rembrandt_.

Callum shakes his head with his lips quirked up, but they fall as he swaps his rings.

Something sinks in Ben as he sees him plaster on a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes, reminding him that _this_ is pretend, and Simon is real.

That Callum doesn’t want him anymore because he’s found someone who actually did propose.

They show their IDs to the concierge, who points them in the direction of a lavish but not too lavish room branded The King Suite.

It’s already full of people, who took the black-tie memo super seriously, and everyone seems to be decked out in their most expensive evening wear.

A woman with bouncing curly hair and dark skin laughs loudly around a group of people.

Ben guesses it’s Mrs Deol, and it’s confirmed when someone walks past her saying “Lovely gala, Tess.” And she smiles and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Right,” he smiles at Callum, or Charles for the time being, “You woo, I’ll get her purse.”

“Why do I have to woo?” He furrows his brow, and it’s quite cute, really.

“Because,” he pokes his cheek, “give her a smile and she’ll be falling over herself at those dimples.” _Like I did._ “Trust me, women love that sort of thing.”

“Right, I forgot I was talking to the world’s expert on women.” But it’s almost fond.

Ben flashes him a grin and Callum returns it without hesitation, but before they can woo or get purses, Teresa Deol makes her way towards the two, red lipstick on her surprisingly genuine smile.

“I don’t believe we’ve met.” She says. A gaggle of people surround her, her friends deciding to also be her security in case they’re planning on kidnapping her or robbing her blind.

Well, Ben can’t say he blames them.

“Charles Maddox.” Callum smiles, dimples on display. “And this is my partner, Bryn.”

She shakes both their hands, “Of course! I’m glad you could make it. Your donations towards my sister’s business have been,” she waves her hands, “Exactly what she needed.”

“Oh, our pleasure, honestly. I didn’t see a cloakroom when we entered.”

“Oh, we encourage our guests to keep their coats, purses, wallets, everything in their rooms. Just in case.”

_Good to know._

Her personal bodyguards seem to relax as Callum carries on talking, spitting out facts Tubbs told them about the donations and getting away with it.

One of the guests, though, a bald man in glasses, sniffs as he takes in the two men.

When there’s a lull in conversation, he takes out a handkerchief from his dark blue breast pocket and wipes at the corner of his mouth.

It seems he wants to say something, and Mrs Deol visibly stiffens, giving Ben and Callum a look they don’t immediately decipher.

“So, business partners?” He says with a tight smile, and Ben realises her look was an apologetic one. “How lovely for one business to help out another.”

Ben narrows his eyes, hands clenching.

“Actually, when we said partners, we meant we’re married.” He keeps his eyes on the man, whose lips turn in disgust.

“Well,” he stutters, “how unusual.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Callum says, eyes trained on the man, but his hands find Ben’s clenched ones and his fingers immediately relax into Callum’s. “I don’t think it’s unusual at all.” He looks him up and down. “Although, I suppose for a man like you, marriage is out of the question entirely.”

The gentleman in question looks down at his suit and huffs, looking to Mrs Deol for support.

“Is there a problem, Dominic?” She smiles.

The three of them eye him as he narrows his eyes and walks away.

She turns to Ben and Callum, “I can have him escorted out.”

“It’s fine.” Callum smiles. “We’re not here to make a fuss.”

“Either way, that’s the last of my events _he’s_ invited to. Please, get yourselves a drink. It’s free.” She places a hand on Callum’s shoulder and goes to greet some others, her gaggle of admirers behind her.

“I kinda feel bad stealing the key from her,” Callum says as they walk away, “She’s nice.”

“You see her shoes? She can afford it.”

He squeezes Callum’s hand in reassurance.

Which is a thing.

There’s not really sparks as they stay holding hands, Callum still looking over at Teresa thoughtfully and unaware, Ben warms under his touch.

It’s _familiar._

Like coming home.

Ben almost snorts.

As if he described Callum’s hands as _home._

The feeling of his hands is safe, and lights a flurry of memories, but mostly it’s unavailable.

Because he’s got a real man at home, a real person he’s going to go marry.

“Come on then, _sweetheart,_ ” he smiles, “let’s mingle before Mrs Deol gets suspicious.”

He tugs on Callum’s hand a bit, gently, before letting go and walking towards the bar.

“Two beers, please, for me and my fella.” He flashes the bartender a grin, maybe loud enough because he wants the bald freak to hear him, or maybe because he’s trying to drown out the voice telling him that one night of pretending is going to rip him in half.

+

There’s quite a few of them now, all stood around Mrs Deol as she recounts a skiing trip that went wrong.

It’s not the most interesting thing in the world but Callum reckons it’s the closest thing he’s going to get for entertainment.

He checks his phone as Simon’s text comes in. _Be careful :-D_

“It’s where I met my husband, actually.” She carries on, her eyes shining as she waxes lyrical about him.

It’s all sickly sweet and cheesy to the point that it’s, _well,_ nice, actually.

They sound like they’re made for each other. Like it was destiny.

Callum tells her this.

“Oh, yes, I think so too.” She replies, grinning. “It’s the red thread of fate, isn’t it?”

The gaggle around her nod knowingly.

“It’s a legend,” she says, at his silence. “Two people, made for each other, have this string tying them together, no matter how far away they are.”

“That’s kind of beautiful, really.” Callum muses. He’s always liked the idea of soulmates.

It’s childish to believe in it, he knows, especially since he’s getting married without so much of an inkling that Simon’s anything close to a soulmate, but it’s romantic.

And he likes romantic.

He imagines Jonno shaking his head in disappointment at his thoughts.

Ignores it.

Simon’s proof he’s not going to end up like his dad. Lonely and sad and abusive. He’s better than that now. He’s getting things _right_ by going for someone his father would despise.

“What about you, Charles?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you and Bryn meet?” Everyone’s eyes turn to stare at him, intrusive like pigeons waiting for bread.

“My ears are burning.” Callum’s muscles relax at the sound of Ben’s voice. “What’s going on?”

“We were asking Charles how you two met.”

“Oh, it’s not that interesting.” Ben says, but they continue to look at him inquisitively, and he laughs. “Okay, okay. Um,” he turns to look at Callum. “I went to a casino, for a stag do or something, I don’t really remember. But there was this guy, I don’t know he just, something told me to go talk to him. So I went to play poker, for the first time in my life.”

Mrs Deol coos excitedly, talking about how it is the string of fate _exactly._

“You what? Cos we were both horny at the same time?”

“Babe!”

“No,” she laughs, “that _something_ that told you to go talk to him. That was _destiny._ ”

Ben shakes his head. All this talk to destiny, it’s close to doing his head in.

“When two people are meant to be together,” she says, hands on his shoulders, “they find each other, somehow. No matter what.”

She sounds eerily like Tiffany, and Ben smiles politely and excuses himself to get a shot of bourbon.

“Bryn doesn’t really believe in that stuff.” Callum laughs, almost bitterly as thoughts of _I don’t do boyfriends_ from his letter come rushing into his head.

“Doesn’t mean it’s not true.” She smiles, tapping her cheek. “So what? You guys met, slept together, and have been with each other ever since?”

The guests around her seem to be mildly offended that Callum didn’t court Ben in a gentlemanly way, but Mrs Deol seems to be okay with it.

“Yeah.” He nods. “It’s not the most exciting, I know, but it worked for us.”

“Oh, the less exciting the better. Drama only hurts everyone.”

Callum nods along, thinks about how it wasn’t _actually_ as simple as that, but he needs to keep his mouth shut, and agrees with her statement.

+

Ben orders another shot, before groaning and resting his forehead on the nice, cold surface of the bar.

“Where’d you get to?”

Ben lifts his head, with great effort, squints to see blurring focus into a tall, attractive man.

“Huh? Oh, all that lovey dovey drivel. Does my head in.”

“Yeah.” Callum says, near inaudible.

“Fate. Destiny. Do you believe in all that?” He scoffs, hearing his words slur.

Callum pauses to look at him. Looks at him like he sees him. “You’re the one who made up the whole ‘something told me to go talk to him’. What did you expect?” He smiles like he doesn’t find it funny.

“Didn’t make it up.” He says. Then he hiccups.

“Well, your fault for being all lovey dovey with that story.”

“Weren’t trying to be.” He hiccups again. “Just telling the truth.”

Callum stills. Opens his mouth and then clearly thinks better of it. Closes it again.

He’s got a nice mouth.

Kissable.

“Okay, we got a job to do.” Callum laughs, awkward.

“She’s in the Brompton Suite. Barkeep said.” He waves his shot glass towards the general direction of the rest of the alcohol.

“That’s where the brunch is tomorrow.” Ben watches the cogs turn in Callum’s head, lets himself get lost in the creases between his brows.

“You’ll get wrinkles.”

“Huh?”

He brushes his fingers in the space above the bridge of his nose. Then trails them up to his hair. It’s soft. He thought it would be.

“Frowning like that, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Thanks for caring.” He chuckles.

“Always.” He breathes it out. The word settles, heavy with meaning, or feeling, or something else he can’t articulate.

He lets his hand fall from his hair, and Callum coughs.

“Right, well, it makes sense to hold off replicating the key until tomorrow morning. We’ll be able to slip into her bag easily.”

“Or we could do it now.” That makes sense, get it done now, and get far away from this stupid, amazing man before Ben’s too close to leave.

Callum shakes his head, “Time for bed, I think.”

“You’re cute when you smile.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, eyes creasing, “definitely time for bed.”

They find their room with little difficulty, and Callum uses the swipe card the receptionist gave him to open the door, feeling Ben’s intense gaze on him.

“Come on, bed.”

Ben mumbles something and lets the warmth of Callum’s hand on his back edge him towards the king-sized bed in the room.

He flops down on the bed, knees knocking together as he sits.

“Ben,” he hears Callum grunt, “under those sheets, come on.”

“Where you gonna, mmph, sleep?” He asks, twisting his shoes off. He doesn’t give him a chance to respond, “We can bunk up on this one, don’t have to be weird. I’ll stay on this end. Promise.” His words slurring into one.

“It’s fine, did ya forget how I used to sleep in hotels all the time?” He gets up, Ben watching through blurring vision to see him searching around and pulling at a lever behind the sofa. It springs open into a sofa-bed.

Ben’s insides warm at his triumphant smile. “Mmm, clever.”

“See? You’ve forgotten, I know all about hotels.”

He comes back, _he came back_ says the back of Ben’s head, and kneels by Ben, untying his tie.

Ben slumps forward and Callum catches the sides of his face to make sure he doesn’t fall to the floor. He lifts his face up a bit, and gives him a small smile, “You okay?”

Ben wraps his hands around Callum’s and brings them from his face and places them on his thighs, straightening his back as he does.

Callum watches his eyes flit across his face, takes in a breath at their closeness. Ben’s hands are a weight on top of his, and his gaze is heavy too. It always is when he looks at Callum, like he’s looking at something important, worthwhile.

He’s not used to being looked at like that.

Ben’s face is level with his, because he’s still kneeling, tie only half undone, and it’s kind of strange not looking down at him.

In fact, if he looks down to where Ben’s eyes usually are, it’s – well, it’s his lips.

And they part so Ben can mumble, “I ain’t forgotten. You can’t honestly think I’ve forgotten.”

“Ben, you’re drunk.” He laughs, but it comes out strangled because he’s focusing too much on how Ben’s tongue has come out to slide across his lower lip.

“Ain’t like I haven’t tried to. But you’re always here.” He lets go of Callum’s hand to press his right forefinger into his temple, eyes screwing shut.

His other hand squeezes Callum’s before he lets go of that too. It makes him lose balance momentarily, and he regains it by grabbing on to Callum’s right shoulder, bringing their faces impossibly closer.

“God, Callum, you’ve _always_ been here. Last two years. Moment I met you.” His hand trails from his shoulder up to the side of his neck, cups his jaw.

The hand on his jaw doesn’t even register the movement when his mouth whispers, “Ben.”

“Whenever I close my eyes. Even when I don’t. _Always here_.” He sounds pained.

“Ben, please.” He breathes. He’s drunk. He’ll forget this in the morning. He doesn’t even mean it. But Callum’s heart races a million miles an hour.

Ben scoffs then, letting the hand by his forehead fall limp to his side.

Callum’s hand almost goes to catch it, and he stops himself by digging his fingers into the flesh of Ben’s thighs.

Hears his breath hitch and it shoots hot through his body.

He used to know those thighs.

“You’re all I think about.” Ben admits, pressing his lips together.

Callum can feel his pulse beating throughout his bloodstream, in the palms he’s resting on Ben, in the cheek Ben’s still holding, on his face when Ben’s breath hits it.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” He replies, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Ain’t like it matters, does it?” His eyes snap open, they’re wet. “Cos you’re marrying some fella who watches Homes under the Hammer for fun.”

He cracks a smile. Thumb grazes the cheek he’s holding. His other hand finding the one Callum’s got on his right thigh. Callum thinks he might have interlaced their fingers.

“Don’t do it.” His voice breaks when he says it.

“Ben.” He warns.

“ _Please,_ don’t do it.”

“Ben, stop.” He pleads. Because he can already guess what he’ll want to do if he doesn’t stop.

No.

_No,_ he can’t think that way, he can’t _do_ this.

He brushes Ben’s hand off his cheek with his right hand but Ben just grabs it with both of his. He brings it to his chest.

“You ain’t gonna, are you?” He asks, in a small voice, closing his eyes again. “Choose me?”

“Ben-”

“And you know what’s shit?” He laughs sadly, “I know you don’t want me, and I’m still only gonna be yours. Pathetic, ain’t I?”

“Ben, just – just go to bed.”

“Can you sleep with me?”

“Ben, I-”

“Not that like that. I mean, just in the bed. You won’t fit on the sofa.”

“That ain’t a good idea.”

“None of this has been a good idea.” He chokes out. “Should never have gotten involved with you. Should have let you carry on what you were doing with Tubbs.”

“Ben.” He says, or asks, or _something_ , and he gets something because Ben’s eyes flutter open.

“I miss you.”

It’s so quiet, and nothing happens for a while, and Callum tries to pretend it was never said at all.

Ben’s eyes stare into Callum’s, begging, helpless, beautiful.

This is so wrong.

Callum knows this as he lets himself look at Ben’s lips again.

He dips his head, Ben’s nose bumping his as he does it.

He’s nearly there.

The blood under his skin throbbing as he parts his lips, breathing in the thickness in the air, breathing in Ben.

He can smell him, the expensive cologne he always treated himself too, some over the top musky scent.

And he can smell the alcohol.

And he knows Ben’s over him, nothing he’s done sober suggests otherwise, and this is just some drunk rambling and he’s being _stupid_.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Callum sighs, and Ben feels the hand on his cheek lift off, and travel to his neck, where his tie comes off.

“Your jacket.” Callum whispers, resigned.

Ben’s fingers loosen as he watches him shrug off Ben’s jacket for him, and then go to unbutton the top buttons of his dress shirt.

Callum’s hand gently pushes at his shoulder, and he finds himself laying on the bed, feels himself sink into it.

He keeps on sinking, and it takes a while to realise the sinking feeling is coming from inside of him, and he’s plummeting and he’s alone and, _fuck,_ he’s lonely.

He hears Callum switch the lights off and has to keep himself from sobbing at it all.

He’s dozing off, his breath evening out, as he hears Callum stumble towards the sofa bed.

No.

He’s dreaming.

He’s definitely dreaming because he feels the other side of the bed dip down.

And yes.

He’s certain he’s asleep because he feels someone shuffle behind him.

A featherlight something is pressed between his shoulder blades, where his skin is exposed, and then that someone shuffles back.

When he turns around, Callum’s got his back to him, his breaths evening out, and the moonlight streaming into the hotel room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> she's risen from the dead! or from the never ending work because lockdown was lifted (briefly); sorry if this chapter was a bit disappointing, i didn't edit it like i normally do but i didn't want to keep any of you waiting longer than you already have x  
> thank you if you still care about this story, and stay safe, loves <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs:  
> [One Day You'll Thank Me - The Hunna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8AlLOJvQUSI)  
> [Happier - Ed Sheeran](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zWQN7u6g62c)  
> 

When Ben blinks his eyes open, the other side of the bed is empty. In fact, it’s like no one slept there at all.

He lifts himself into a sitting position and falls back against the headboard with a yawn, sheets pooling around his waist, and head pounding.

The door of the en-suite opens, and Callum comes out half dressed, black trousers clinging to his legs. His hair’s damp from the shower and his chest’s exposed from the white shirt he hasn’t managed to button up yet.

He looks up from the floor and freezes when he sees Ben.

Last night flashes like a film reel through Ben’s mind, and shame sweeps his insides as Callum clears his throat.

“I didn’t think you’d be up yet. We still got two hours ‘til the brunch.” He stumbles on his words, fingers on his buttons.

Ben looks away, privacy or something, and realises he’s still in his clothes from the night before.

He plays with the sheets around his middle, tangling and untangling his hands in between the fabric, as he thinks of what to say.

Part of his heart flutters, hopeful with thoughts of the red string and Tiffany’s words, even if his head’s full of alarm bells.

Then, Callum steps towards the sofa-bed, picking up blankets and tucking them back into the cupboards.

“You slept on the sofa?” is what Ben bursts out with, causing Callum to stiffen.

Callum stays staring into the cupboard, back towards Ben, unmoving.

“Yeah, I did.”

“I thought…”

“What?”

“Last night, I remember-”

“You probably don’t. You were so drunk, I’d be surprised if you remembered any of it.”

Ben closes his mouth at the sharpness of Callum’s words, silently watching as he packs the rest of his stuff away.

Still, says a ridiculous part of his mind, you could salvage this, even Mrs Deol thinks it’s meant to be.

When he finally zips up his suitcase, he runs a hand through his hair. “Right, I saw Mrs Deol in the lobby, so I’m going to go and talk to her a bit more. Need her to trust us.”

“She already does.”

“That’ll give you time to shower and change and pack your things so we can leave straight after the brunch.” He’s walking up and down the length of the room, picking up one thing, and putting down another, as if his body can’t manage to stay in one place.

“You don’t have to go.”

“I’ll be outta your hair while you get ready and then meet you outside so we can go to the brunch together.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“And wear a suit, cos everyone outside is. I saw when I went on a run this morning.”

“Callum-”

“Right, I’m gonna go but you can text me if there’s an emergency.”

“Callum!” Callum finally stops moving to look at Ben, who’s now stood up and watching him as he rests one hand on the doorknob. He sighs, “I remember last night, and you can’t just _avoid_ me and not talk about it.”

His grip on the doorknob tightens. “Nothing to talk about.”

He scoffs, “Callum-”

“ _Ben_.” He shakes his head, something sad in his eyes. “Let’s just get through this brunch, okay?”

He opens the door to leave but hungover Ben is more stubborn than he remembers.

“It’s gonna be a bit difficult with you ignoring me, ain’t it?”

He jumps a bit when Callum slams the door closed. “What’s there to _say_ , Ben? You got drunk, said some things you didn’t mean, and it’s _fine_. It’s forgotten. Now, please _,_ drop it Ben."

His voice breaks as he says his name, eyes desperately flitting around the room, as he stands on one end of it and Ben stands on the other.

Eventually, he meets Ben’s eyes, and they stay like that. Stare at each other in the silence. Ben’s sure he’s stopped breathing.

Callum shakes his head again, tired of this, tired of being confused, tired of trying to work out what’s going on in his head and he doesn’t want to have to decipher what’s going on in Ben’s.

He turns around again, making to leave, and then Ben says, “I did.”

He looks over his shoulder to see the determination in Ben’s eyes.

“You did what?”

“I _did_ mean it. The things I said.”

Callum just screws his eyes shut and runs a hand over his face. “That doesn’t make sense.” He replies in a small voice.

“What?” The surprise in his voice makes Callum turn around and look at him. Ben looks genuinely taken aback, mouth parted, and brows furrowed. “What do you mean it doesn’t make sense?”

“You couldn’t have meant those things. You’re probably remembering it all wrong.” He says, sounding firm, as if he can’t hear how his insides collapse into crumbs.

“ _No_ , no, I do remember.” He sounds strained, or angry, or desperate. Maybe everything. Callum wouldn’t know.

He can’t work him out right now. He can’t work _this_ out right now.

His head should be filled with things that aren’t _Ben Ben Ben_ because there’s more important things going on and it’s all mashed up together and confusing him and –

“I _do_ miss ya. And I don’t want you marrying that boring sod. And I can’t stop thinking about you. And I want you and I know I can’t have you and I’m _sorry_ I said all those things, but I meant every word and you can’t tell me I didn’t cos I _did_ , Cal, I’ll always mean it.”

Ben breathes out then, eyes firmly set on him and Callum thinks he can see a glossy sheen over them.

“Right, are you done?” And his indifferent words would cut more if his bottom lip wasn’t trembling.

Ben’s mouth goes dry and he nods pathetically.

“Okay.” Callum falls against the wall behind him, looking up at the ceiling. “It still don’t make sense.” He pauses. “Why would you say all that to someone _you_ broke up with?”

He says it so calmly, so devoid of tone that Ben almost doesn’t recognise it to be Callum.

Callum who always wears his heart on his sleeve and maybe Ben’s stupid, but he just now seems to realise he might have broken it.

“You can’t tell someone you miss ‘em when you wanted to get rid in the first place.”

“What?” He feels the air get sucked out of him. Out of everything that happened a year and a half ago, _getting rid_ was never what Ben was doing.

“You didn’t want me then. So how am I supposed to believe you want me now?”

He lets out a shaky exhale, and slowly makes his way to the foot of the bed, where he sits down, wringing his hands together.

Ben watches the action from where he’s stood on the side, Callum’s back to him again.

Hesitantly, he walks up to him, and then kneels as Callum focuses his stare to the ground.

His hands come to rest on top of Callum’s, and when he doesn’t resist, he untangles them from each other.

“I did want ya. I just couldn’t have ya.”

“What does that even mean?” He huffs, tugging his hands away from Ben’s.

“Come on, Cal, we were so different. You was about making an honest living and I was going from one dodgy job to another. You always wanted that white picket fence and I couldn’t get you that."

“Right, so it’s my fault?” He stands up, sidestepping away from Ben and walking towards the window. “If you wanted an excuse to break up with me, don’t use the dodgy jobs. Because I _never_ let that get in the way. I _did_ those jobs with you!” His fist hits the windowpane.

“It’s not an excuse. I wanted better for you. I still do.” He’s got up from where he was kneeling now.

“That ain’t your choice to make!” Callum whips around, tears threatening to spill. “Stop saying all of this! How you miss me or you want me or whatever else you wanna come up with because you _don’t_. You broke up with me, some shoddy excuse about how our worlds are too different cos you didn’t want a boyfriend and now – now you’re just saying things and I can’t work out _why._ ” His voice breaking and his chest heaving and Ben said _he can’t stop thinking about him_.

“It’s not that I didn’t _want_ a boyfriend,” he begins.

“Yeah, I know, you don’t _do_ boyfriends.” Callum finishes, and Ben’s eyes widen. Callum sighs, gritting his teeth. “I get it. Our worlds are too different and you don’t do boyfriends and you had to go and you’re sorry. I _know_.”

Ben swallows, his own words slicing the air between them, dividing them further.

He wants to ask. Wants to know how he remembers all of that. Sees it as a sign. But he just stares gormlessly back at Callum’s face, the contorted, distressed face in front of him.

But Callum seems to get it. He always does.

And he sighs again, much heavier this time, and walks towards his suitcase.

He unzips it and starts rummaging through his clothes until he brings out a wrinkled piece of paper.

Then he walks back to Ben and presses it to his chest. Ben’s hand comes up to take the sheet, and as soon as it does, Callum’s hand falls from it.

“This – it’s..” He watches Callum try to hold himself together. They both know what it is. He doesn’t need to say it out loud. “You kept it?” He whispers.

Callum rubs a hand over his face, looking up at the ceiling and biting his lip. He lets out a dry laugh. “Couldn’t get rid of it. Tried to. Went out to the bins one night but I backed out. Don’t know why. It’s the shittiest thing I’ve ever read.”

“I didn’t think you’d keep it.”

“A fucking letter, Ben.” He laughs. “You wrote me a fucking letter to break up with me.”

“I – I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care.” He huffs. “Read that letter and tell me how I’m supposed to believe anything you said last night.” His voice cracks at that and he goes to sit on the bed, head in his hands.

Ben just stands there, eyes on Callum sat on the bed, clutching the letter.

“Clearly I was a shit boyfriend.”

“I must have been worse.” Callum replies, gesturing to the letter.

“ _No_ , no, you were – you were amazing. Perfect, even.”

Callum shakes his head, and then falls back on the bed, eyes to the ceiling. “I ain’t perfect. Ain’t a perfect boyfriend.”

Absentmindedly, he starts to play with the ring on his finger.

_Shit._

He imagines the one he had stuffed into his pockets last night. His _real_ one. Wonders where in the suitcase it is squeezed into.

Ben’s –

He’s not _sure_ what Ben is. Apart from someone from his past. Someone confusing or exciting or somewhere in between.

Someone he fell for. Someone who let him fall.

It was _Simon_ who helped him back up again, right?

Simon who he’s promised to stay loyal to.

Simon whose text he should have replied to and whose lips he should have dreamt of.

He’s safe, there’s no denying that, but he’s right for him. Even Stuart thinks so, and he’s hard to please on a good day.

“Maybe you ain’t perfect.” Cuts in Ben’s voice. “But you was a pretty perfect boyfriend for me.”

Ben watches as Callum closes his eyes, wry smile on his mouth. “I’m lying to my boyfriend right now. Not pretty perfect.”

If Callum had punched him in the gut, it would have hurt less.

Of course, he knows he’s not Callum’s boyfriend anymore, the man’s engaged for God’s sake, but something was shuffling his thoughts around. A persistent niggling at the back of his head and he let himself imagine that Simon didn’t exist for a second.

But he does.

And he’s what Callum wants. Not Ben.

Ben inhales shakily at the realisation before he forces out a “I’m sorry about doing it through a letter.”

Callum’s humourless laugh rings out, slaps Ben in the face, and he pushes himself off the bed.

He looks Ben in the eye, searching for something before shaking his head at himself.

Something breaks in Ben at his hopeless expression, the air between them going cold, as if they’ve both realised this conversation isn’t going anywhere.

“M’going to find Mrs Deol.” He mumbles, turning to the door.

Ben nods in reply, swallowing back the lump in his throat.

The door creaks open.

“For the record, Ben.” And he looks up to see Callum’s pained expression. “I never wanted the white picket fence. I just wanted you.”

The door slams shut.

Ben goes for a shower, lets his tears fall freely there.

+

“Ah, finally, we were going to start without you.” Mrs Deol teases, but her smile drops at the awkward glances Callum and Ben give her. “Is everything okay?”

Callum clears his throat, adjusting his tie and looking anywhere but at Mrs Deol, who holds her suite door open without inviting them in.

“Yeah, just didn’t get much sleep last night,” Ben smiles. Her worried expression melts into a smirk, and Ben’s heart drops, he didn’t mean to imply anything.

“Okay, we don’t need the details,” she chuckles, waving them inside.

He hazards a look at Callum, who doesn’t even return a glance, mumbling a “Sorry, Mrs Deol.”

“Oh please, Teresa.”

They find two empty seats on the long table in the middle of the living room which, Ben notes, leads into the bedroom.

As soon as Callum takes a seat opposite Teresa and Ben next to him, an elderly lady on his right, two butlers come out and start filling his plate with croissants and various other pastries.

He raises his eyebrows at Callum, but he’s looking straight ahead, making conversation with the others and ignoring anything to do with Ben.

He sighs, the conversation in the morning was supposed to _stop_ this from happening, this thick tension that Ben’s sure everybody is going to pick up on soon.

“Hi,” he goes for a winning smile, “I’m Bryn, how about you?”

“Pam.” The old lady next to him replies, she has kind eyes, and a lot to say, so Ben focuses on her and not the way his heart calls for the man next to him.

He’s gotten through almost ten minutes of conversation when there’s squeals on the other end of the table, and a woman in too much makeup puffs out her chest as the girls to either side croon over her.

“Oh congratulations, Shannon! When’s it due?” Teresa says, getting up to give her a hug.

With everyone crowding around Shannon, Ben glances up to Callum again, keeps staring until he finally gives in and makes eye contact.

Ben attempts a small smile, but Callum looks away immediately.

Ben exhales shakily, he’s royally fucked up.

Right, well, desperate times.

He grabs a hand that Callum’s rested in his lap, and Callum’s eyes widen at it, but he doesn’t recoil completely.

“Can you pretend you don’t hate my guts for the rest of the morning?” Ben whispers, but they both pick up on the desperation behind it.

Callum huffs, but whatever response he has, he doesn’t get to say because Teresa interrupts.

“Do you have children, Charles?”

Callum clenches his jaw, fashioning his mouth into the politest smile he can manage, death grip on Ben’s hand.

“Uh, no. It’s just us for now.” He coughs.

“How come?” Pam asks from Ben’s side.

“They do all sorts these days, you don’t even need a woman.”

“Pam!” Teresa looks mortified but Ben chuckles.

“No, you’re right but, um, it’s on me, I guess.” He coughs, looking nervously at Callum, and then Teresa. “I’m not sure about fatherhood.”

“What are you talking about? You’re amazing with Lexi.” Callum says with furrowed brows.

“Lexi?”

“Yeah, his goddaughter.” Callum barely falters in responding to Teresa. “He’s great with her. She loves him to bits.”

Teresa coos at Callum, who looks down in embarrassment, but Ben’s burning a hole in the side of his face.

He didn’t lie, Ben _is_ a good father, at least from what he’s seen. But a compliment that accidentally slipped out doesn’t mean anything.

A compliment is a compliment.

A fake husband is a fake husband.

“Thanks.” Ben says in a hushed tone, only for Callum.

He inhales, bracing himself to look at Ben, who’s screwed his mouth to the side. It reminds him of Simon, except when he does it, it means he’s about to drop a bombshell.

When Ben does it, it means he’s trying to keep something at bay.

Callum shakes himself out of it.

Of all the things he should be doing, comparing Ben to Simon is absolutely not one of them.

His line of sight falls behind Teresa’s shoulder, into her room, reminding him of the one thing he should do.

He looks back to Ben, subtly tilting his head in that direction.

“Where’s the bathroom, Tess?” Shannon asks, conveniently, a while later.

Teresa points at a door at the end of the hall, and Callum and Ben share a look.

“Actually, I need to use it too.” Says Ben.

“Oh, well, after Shannon.” She smiles awkwardly.

“No! Uhm,” Ben pauses. “It’s urgent.” He holds up two fingers, and Pam snorts next to him.

“Well, er…” Teresa looks around and then her eyes clear as if she’s only just realised she also has an en suite. “Through there.”

She points a manicured finger to the room, and Ben nods a thanks.

He gets up as Callum says, “So, Pam, was it? It’s nice to meet you.”

He reaches over to shake her hand, patting his jacket pocket as he does so.

“Right, well, I’ll just be a minute.” Ben smiles, breathes in through his nose at the stupidity of what he’s about to do.

Callum stiffens as his hand falls on his shoulder. “See you in a bit, babe.” He leans down, heart beating wildly in his chest.

_This is so stupid._

He swallows down the nerves threatening to close his throat up, bringing his other hand to where his pocket is.

_So, so stupid._

The last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is the way Callum’s widen.

Then he’s pressing a kiss to his cheek, one hand on his nape, the other picking up the key impressioning kit.

“Yep, see ya.” Callum sounds hoarse.

Ben walks to the room without turning back.

Although when he gets there, it’s a whole other challenge of working out where the key is.

His eyes scan the open wardrobe as he goes by it, but there’s nothing but expensive clothes and an umbrella.

Tubbs told him it would be attached to a red **T** keyring and given him a general idea of what it should look like.

So, Ben starts at the bedside drawer, luckily pushed against a wall out of view of the guests, whose voices filter through the gap between the living room and bedroom.

 _This room’s far too ornate_ , is what he thinks as he opens and closes the drawer with its golden handle, finding nothing in it. The next thing he thinks is _I need to hurry up._

He checks the side table and, for good measure, underneath the bed.

He bites his lip, aware of how precious time is.

It’s then that he spots a handbag on the fur ottoman. On the other side of the room.

Ben glances at the opening to the living room. Walks slowly to the other side and then walks quickly back as he realises Shannon would completely see him.

His eyes dart around the room and land on the umbrella he had walked past.

He sighs, going to pick up the umbrella, and holds it like a spear, away from Shannon’s (possibly) prying eyes.

Hooking the umbrella’s handle around a bag strap proves more difficult than Ben would like to admit, and he finds himself wishing he’d taken up fishing as a kid. Or done more of those Hook a Duck things at funfairs so he’d be better equipped.

Not that he can stand funfairs.

Lexi loves them, because she’s a little kid and all the rides are designed for little kids, but the logic of having grown adults walking around like it’s for them? He wonders why it’s such a popular date place when it must be boring playing games not designed for you just to win a giant soft thing that you’ll stuff in the back of your wardrobe.

He reckons Simon’s just the shade of boring that he’d enjoy a funfair date.

His grip starts to falter, and he realises it’s because his hand’s sweaty, and he blows out a breath. “C’mon, focus.”

Somehow, that works, and the strap falls into the crook of the handle, and he carefully pulls it towards him.

He looks at his watch, he’s been gone a fair few minutes already and he has to work fast before someone comes to get him.

He wipes his hands on his trousers and goes to work, rummaging through the bag for something red.

He finds a red tube of lipstick, a pair of red earrings, and two red pens before he feels like screaming in frustration.

It’s like a lightbulb’s gone off above his head as his fingers accidentally brush against a small zip on the inside of the bag.

_Yes!_

“Yes.” He mutters to himself, pulling out the small key with the rectangular head, adorned with a red **T** like Tubbs had said.

Quickly, he pulls out the impressioning kit and presses it into the mould, squeezing it tightly as though that will make the process faster, breaths coming out unevenly as he keeps his eye on how the big hand keeps pressing ahead on his watch.

 _“You need to give it a minute,”_ Callum had said, _“or it won’t hold its shape properly.”_

He clamps the thing together for a few more seconds before popping out the key and tucking it back into the handbag.

“Bryn? Everything okay?”

“Teresa!” He shoves the thing into his trouser pocket. “Fine thanks, just-“ he flaps his hand around as he tries to think of an excuse, “-needed a breather.”

It’s not a complete lie, and he’s already spent most of the weekend lying to her, that he thinks he should probably take a break.

She nods, smiling kindly, gesturing to the bed.

He slumps down onto it, and she comes to sit beside him.

“Is this about your row? With Charles?”

“That obvious?” He feels guilt twinge his chest, but he can’t exactly come clean.

“Every couple fights, you know?”

He turns to look at her, her thoughtful eyes staring right back. “This weren’t a regular barney.” He admits. “It’s a big one.”

“Go on.” She says gently.

“I,uh, I did something. Hurt him. Proper hurt him like,” he sighs. “I just don’t think we can come back from that.”

Ben usually operates in half truths. Especially during a job. So he chalks up this full blown honesty to his orange juice being spiked.

“Did you cheat on him?"

“What? No, course not.”

“Hit him?”

“No! No, never.”

“Then it can’t have been all that bad.” She replies, knowingly. “Anyone can see how good you are for each other. Don’t let _one fight_ break what you’ve got.”

“I dunno, Tess, I ain’t sure we’ve got something anymore.”

It’s the most honest he’s ever been.

Teresa puts a hand on his shoulder. “You love him, don’t ya?”

He looks right at her, exhales shakily and nods. “Couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.”

No. This is the most honest he’s ever been.

His heart stops at the realisation.

That word, that _feeling_ , explains the rush of blood to his brain at the mention of Callum. The knife in his gut about Simon. The bile in his throat at ever thinking he could ever be good enough for him.

Ben’s never been good for Callum. He was intelligent enough to work that out a year and a half ago, and stupid enough to forget in a span of weeks.

And _last night_ , what was he thinking? Telling Callum all of that? Reminding him of all the awful things he went through when Ben broke up with him the first time? And just before he’s about to get married?

It’s like he to ruins his life without even meaning to.

And what was this morning all about?

Drunk Ben is stupid but Sober Ben is downright laughable.

What did he _want?_ For Callum to nod and take him in his arms and tell him he missed him too? He's _engaged._

Idiot _._

Idiot. Idiot. _Idiot_.

“Bryn? I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“How badly I’ve messed up. I do things without thinking.”

“You’re only human. Stop being hard on yourself.” She says, shaking him a bit with the grip on his shoulder. “Look, you want him to be happy, right?”

She barely pauses to notice Ben nod in reply.

“So just make him happy. Give him what he wants, what he deserves. You know him best.”

Ben thinks it over, absorbing her words. It makes sense now, what he’s got to do.

“You’re right.”

“Course I am.” She chuckles.

“Bet you and Mr Deol are solid, though.”

A dreamy smile spreads across her features, making her look young. “We’re pretty good at the moment. Yeah.”

Without invitation, she pulls out her phone and shows him a picture of a man and two grinning children.

“This is Jaz. And the girl is Jess.”

“They’re beautiful. Like you.” He nudges her with his shoulder.

She giggles, but something flickers over her face.

“You close with your children?”

It flickers over again. “Yeah. Somewhat.” She sighs, moving her hair behind her ear. “It’s hard. With work.”

He can understand that. “Anyone can see you love them.” He tries, he’s never really been good at the making people feel better part.

She shrugs. “I hope I don’t turn into one of those mums who neglects their kids for a promotion.”

“You won’t. As long as you don’t let yourself.”

“That’s what I keep telling myself.”

She gives him a soft, resigned smile. He imagines he’s giving her one too.

“Bryn?” Her eyes land on the spot behind his shoulder at the sound of Callum’s voice. “Y’alright?”

“Gosh we’ve been ages.” She pushes herself off the bed, Ben following her.

She mouths _make him happy_ before stepping into the living room, leaving the two at the doorway.

“You were gone ages.” Callum hisses, and Ben needs to stop telling himself it’s an undercurrent of worry that he hears. “I thought she’d _you know_ caught ya or sommat.”

He nods toward Teresa.

“Nah, it’s all good.” He whispers. “Listen, I need to talk to ya. About last night. And this morning.”

“Not here.” He says with warning.

“Obviously.” Ben stops himself from rolling his eyes. “But it’s important.”

Callum swallows his heart back down his throat as they take their place on the table. As if his head isn’t pounding trying to work out how the Ben who broke up with him and the Ben last night are the same person.

“So, how did you and Bryn meet?”

“Well, Pam,” he coughs awkwardly, “Teresa reckons it was some lucky string.”

She tuts, “It’s the _string of fate_.”

+

Callum leans against the door of his car, appreciating the breeze around him, letting Ben say the _goodbyes_ and _thanks for inviting us_ for once.

He feels himself stiffen as Ben says his last one and comes over.

“Hey,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Callum stays quiet, waiting.

“You were right.”

“What?” It’s surprising. Mostly because Ben Mitchell never says that.

“Last night. This morning.” He shrugs indifferently, which answers Callum’s question of whether it’s been playing on his mind all day too. “You’re right.”

“About what?”

“I didn’t mean it.”

Everything inside Callum collapses.

He _knows_. He _knows_ it was just Ben being drunk and then Ben being stubborn. His knees almost buckle anyway.

“I think with us pretending again, and the booze, I just got mixed up. Old feelings resurfacing and all that.” Ben’s still talking, like each tendon in Callum’s chest isn’t snapping. “I broke up with you for a reason. And I don’t - I don’t want you back.” _Snap._

But you said you missed me. You said you can’t stop thinking about me and you want me and _you said you meant it._

Callum bites down on his lip hard.

 _You said you’d always mean it_ tries to claw out from his throat.

“Right, well, I won’t say I told you so.”

Ben laughs, and if it sounds watery it’s only because Callum’s hyper fixated on not letting his own tears fall.

The car journey is quiet, the radio playing something pop rock that neither of them recognise, the words being shouted rather than sang.

Ben would normally point that out, do an awful rendition, but he must pick up on the fact that Callum’s not in a chatty mood because he stays silent.

Callum’s only silent because if his lips weren’t clasped together, he’d scream. Or cry. Or both. At once.

His house comes in view, they’d agreed Callum could drive them and then Ben would take it back to the car lot.

Except as they grow closer, Ben says, “Just the warehouse now. Then Stuart’ll be out of the woods.”

And then he’ll go again, like he did all that time ago. With no explanation, no _closure_ for Callum and something about that strikes as unfair.

Ben grips the side of his seat as Callum takes a sharp left turn, car screeching as it narrowly misses an incoming van.

He parks the car in a random residential area.

He can’t get out a _what was that?_ because there’s something simmering under Callum.

He can tell with the way his knuckles are going white when he grips the steering wheel, chest heaving.

“That ain’t fair.”

“What?” He asks, still slightly breathless at the shock.

“What you said. It’s. Not. Fair.”

“I don’t... What?”

“You can’t play with people’s feelings, Ben!” He punches the steering wheel and then brings his hands to run through his hair.

Ben sits still.

_Make him happy. Give him what he wants. What he deserves._

He’s not playing with his feelings, he’s protecting them, _sparing_ them from the rollercoaster that is Ben.

“You say one thing one minute and another the next. What do you take me for? What do you take _yourself_ for? What, you feel some things ‘resurfacing’,” his fingers angrily making quotes in the air, “and you decide to what? See if you can - can still affect me? Get a reaction? Is it a game?” He shakes his head at his lap. He sounds resigned now, the fury giving way to sadness, disappointment. “See how long it takes for me to break? Is that it?”

And Callum doesn’t say anything else but his head’s brimming with questions because as much as he used to get Ben before, now he’s as confusing as ever. And it feels like every conversation they have just pokes holes into his theories of who he is.

“Ain’t you gonna say something?”

“What’s there to say? You’ve already decided what kind of person I am.” He says in a steel voice.

“ _No_ , I’m trying to fill in the gaps because you won’t.” Ben’s method of communicating, it seems, is to say things he doesn’t mean.

He inhales deeply. “You remember what you said to me before? That I had to tell you things cos we’re in this together. Well you gotta do the same. Be truthful.”

Ben sighs, looking over at Callum.

Callum searches and searches and _searches_ for emotion in them but they’re blank.

“I got drunk. What I said - I thought it was a good idea at the time. But the truth is I’m glad we broke up. Me and you are in the past.”

Ben watches to see what Callum says, but he opens his mouth and then closes it again, shoulders slumping.

He clenches his fists to stop himself from holding him.

Then, Callum nods, and says lowly, “I’ll walk the rest of the way.”

The car door opens and then it’s being slammed shut.

Ben’s heart feels heavy in his chest, weighed down by the things he doesn’t let himself say.

Quietly, he gets out from the passenger seat to go to the other side of the car.

He sees Stuart make his way to Callum, who’s halfway down the street, hugging him.

Then Stuart spots him.

Ben holds his breath as he makes his way over.

“All right? Heard the job went okay.” He says, _too_ politely.

“Yeah, Callum’s got the mould so we’ll be able to get in.”

Stuart nods, then his smile drops. “Him and Simon. They’re it for each other, yeah. You know he makes him happy.”

Ben narrows his eyes. “I dunno what you think-”

“I’m just saying. Stay away from him.”

“You know we’re working together? To help _you_ out of trouble.”

“And I’m grateful. But he told me himself. You’re just a means to an end. He’s happy with Simon.”

“Are ya done talking?” Ben turns to get in the car without waiting for a response.

Stupid, persistent Highways, though, and he’s knocking on the window.

He rolls it down just enough to hear him.

“Just don’t get in their way.”

Ben’s jaw clenches.

“Weren’t planning to.”

Ben rolls the window back up, driving off, and if he almost runs over Stuart’s feet, he thinks he can be forgiven.

Mrs Deol’s words repeat like a mantra in his head.

_Give him what he wants._

Ben’s never given him anything but grief. So he did what he had to.

_Give him what he deserves._

Callum deserves the world. Ben can’t give him that.

But he can stop himself from being selfish and subjecting Callum to a doomed future with him.

_Give him what he deserves._

He passes their house on the way to the car lot.

The string he’d imagined connecting them snaps in two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i don't think i'd have gotten this chapter done without all your lovely comments, thank you thank you thank youu  
> in all honesty i'm too exhausted to edit, but i hate posting unedited things, so it's the last time i promise!  
> Merry belated Christmas and Happy New Year loves, and if the holidays weren't good to you this year, i hope you are surrounded by your loved ones next Christmas, look after yourselves xxx


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if anyone was wondering what Callum was like when ben broke up with him the first time round, this chapter should give you some insight, enjoy! xx

“I’m sorry, breakfast ended at 11.” Callum repeats.

“But I don’t want it for breakfast.” The man replies slowly, exasperated. “I want it for lunch.”

“The avocado on toast is on the breakfast menu,” he tries to explain, “we stop serving things on the breakfast menu at 11 o clock.”

“But I don’t want the avocado from the breakfast menu. I want it for lunch.”

“We don’t serve it at lunchtime, sir, I’m sorry.”

“This is ridiculous.” The man huffs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and promptly stomping out of the restaurant.

Callum fights the urge to groan in frustration. Turning to go into the kitchen instead, he helps the new hire prepare the paella.

He instructs him to peel the shrimp.

Obviously, the boy keeps getting it wrong, pulling too hard on the shells and cutting into the meat. Serves Callum right for not hiring the new batch himself.

He sees the boy scratch his head and abandon the kitchen shears to use his fingers to dig the shrimp out.

“Stop! Your gloves aren’t clean enough for you to be doing that.”

“We’re gonna wash them anyway, what does it matter?”

Christ, where did Ian find this guy?

“We need to maintain a hygienic environment. My kitchen has a standard. Or at least it should.”

The hubbub of the kitchen quietens at his unusually angry tone.

“What? Keep working!” He snaps. He closes his eyes and takes a second to breathe. “Dev, do me a favour and help him with the paella. I need five.”

The bright faced sous chef nods, changing stations immediately as if Callum’s got him at gunpoint.

Great. Now he’s one of those bosses who’s a dick to his employees. He needs air.

As soon as he opens the back door, rain starts to pour down in buckets.

He grinds his teeth.

Something tells him the world is against him today.

He goes back to his office to pull his coat off the peg and throw it on, leaving again with his hood covering half his face.

Dirty rainwater soaks the pavements of central London, sloshing under his soles as he hits the concrete, his walk powering into a jog, urged on by the simmering anger underneath his veins. His hood slaps against his forehead at every thump of his run and his thighs begin to burn.

But there’s a hotter, fiercer singe buried in his chest. It’s clawing its way out, making him jump down the throat of everyone he knows, and it’s anger he’s felt before.

It sparked when he first read the letter a year and a half ago and it’s began to surge through him again.

And it’s all because of one man.

_No._

He won’t go there. Not today.

It’s almost been two days of radio silence, except for a vague text from Tubbs suggesting he’ll come to pick him up for the warehouse when ‘the time’s right’.

Two days of Callum stewing over everything, boiling and burning over it all, over _Ben._

He’s glad he hasn’t tried to talk to him since. Relieved. Angry.

Angry because - because Ben’s an ass, all right? He shouldn’t be spouting things about wanting Callum if he doesn’t mean them.

Callum takes another sharp turn, puffing out a breath of hot air.

He’s actually angry because -

Because for a few minutes, Ben had him fooled. He _believed_ him, because he’s an idiot, because it felt good.

Ben’s got a way of saying things that make him feel good.

 _Fuck_.

No he doesn’t.

No, he hurts his feelings. And he breaks up with him and he has a hold on his heart and Simon - shit, Simon.

He loves Simon.

_Fuck._

Callum turns another corner, slamming into someone.

“Ow!” It’s Tiffany. “Callum?”

“You stalking me?”

“No, just finished a class. Was gonna get coffee.” Tiffany points at a small Costa across the road. “Want one?”

“I should get back to work.” It’s not a lie, he’s been gone longer than five minutes.

Tiffany tuts, “You need a coffee.”

Callum tries to find it in him to be offended. He can’t.

“Go on then.”

Tiffany’s face lights up, and she tells him about a new caramel drink they’ve introduced, ordering it for the two of them and settling into a rickety chair before Callum can say no.

She crosses her arms in front of her and rests them on the table between them.

“So?”

“So what?”

She rolls her eyes, “What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Nothing. Tell me about your beauty course.”

“I got an 87 in my client care exam.” She thanks the waitress as she places their drinks on the table, “so what’s wrong?”

Callum picks up the caramel thing, sipping on it and taking care not to show how it almost burnt his tongue. He shrugs.

“It’s a bit sugary.”

Tiffany’s eyes pierce through him. “How are things with Simon?”

“They’re fine.” They’re _not_ fine, Callum’s been snappy, but that’s a whole different problem.

“Then?”

He blows out a breath. “Me and Ben had an argument. Guess I’m still a bit pissed off.”

She nods her head, as if she knew this already, and Callum’s given up trying to figure out the extent of her psychic powers.

She dumps some sugar into her own drink, stirring, silently allowing him to break the quiet.

Maybe some talking will help.

“He said some stupid things when he was drunk and now we ain’t talking.”

“Well what did he say that was so bad?”

Callum shrugs, looking into his coffee cup. It’s a weird shade of golden brown he doesn’t associate with caffeine, and his eyes follow the yellowy syrup as it swirls and spirals into the shape of a face.

A face Callum sees every time he closes his eyes.

“Am I a bad person?” He asks quietly.

It startles Tiffany, who frowns, “Course you’re not. You’re the kindest bloke I know. I mean Whit was _devastated_ when you said you was gay.”

A laugh tumbles out of Callum, but it sounds forced. “I feel like a bad person, though, cos I shouldn’t,” he swallows, intently staring into his coffee, “I shouldn’t be thinking about this argument so much, should I? Letting it get to me?”

 _Letting him get to me_ is left unsaid.

“I think,” Tiffany begins, “We can’t help what we think about. _Who_ we think about.” She reaches out and covers Callum’s hand with her own. “But we can decide what we do about it.”

“Shove it to the back of our minds?”

“No,” she laughs, “You can’t keep it down. It’ll only come back up. And then, you won’t be able to control who it hurts.”

He gets what she’s saying. “People are gonna get hurt, ain’t they?”

“Yeah. But it don’t have to be as bad as you think.” She squeezes his hand reassuringly, and he smiles at her, softly.

He’s lucky to have her.

He sighs, knowing what he has to do, what Tiffany’s telling him to do.

“I need to stop talking to Ben, don’t I?” He asks, the words dropping in his gut.

“What?” Tiffany retracts her hand, looking at him like he’s stupid. “No!”

Okay, maybe he doesn’t know what Tiffany’s telling him to do.

“Why would you stop talking to him?”

“Because,” he shifts in his seat uncomfortably, “I’m so angry at him, I’m not focusing on my future with Simon?”

Tiffany raises an eyebrow. “And why d’ya think you’re so focused on Ben?”

Callum mumbles an “I dunno” and gulps down some of his coffee to avoid Tiffany’s gaze.

She rubs her temples. “Callum,” she says in a weary tone, “is he what you want?”

“Ben’s my _past_ , Tiff. He broke up with me and he don’t want me and I’ve moved on.”

Tiffany presses her lips together. “I was talking about Simon.”

“Oh.”

She chews her bottom lip and her eyes dart around the coffee shop, hesitating when she opens her mouth. “Callum, I know your relationship ain’t none of my business but - sometimes, you can just leave someone y’know?” She looks up at him to gage his reaction, but he sits stiffly and stays silent. She breathes in and continues, “sometimes relationships are bad cos they ain’t enough. There don’t need to be a worser reason.”

Callum breathes out harshly through his nose. “Right, well, thanks for your concern. I gotta get back to work.”

He gets up, the chair squeaking underneath him, and he chucks the coffee cup away with more force than necessary.

“See you about, Tiff.”

“Cal?” She stands up, crossing her arms. “For what it’s worth, you seem happier now that Ben’s around.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “Tiff, me and Ben ain’t a thing, we ain’t ever going to be a thing. We’re not even getting along at the moment.”

“Yeah, about that,” she says, “are you angry at him? Or are you just upset?”

She doesn’t wait for an answer, instead turning to throw her own cup away, letting her question stew in the air.

“There’s only one person in the world who could make me that sad.” She finally speaks, meeting Callum’s eyes. “And I love him.”

 _It’s not love_ , he opens his mouth to say but the words die before they’ve even started to form, and he closes his mouth again like an idiot, the bell above the door ringing as he pushes it open.

The rain only gets heavier as he walks back.

+

Tubbs texts Ben that they need to be prepared for the warehouse. _Just in case,_ he puts.

Ben gets it. It’s a dangerous line of work.

Except he doesn’t keep any _preparations_ in his house, obviously. Not the car lot either.

He locks up, shooing Jay away before he can say “Vic?” and makes his way to the Arches.

It’s not linked to him anymore - not since he gave it up - and so the best place to keep anything incriminating.

A couple Walford residents nod at him but it’s raining so heavily and no one stops to chat.

He brings out his old key and takes in a deep breath.

Moment of truth.

He exhales, relieved, when his key unlocks the garage. He’s lucky Phil hasn’t had the sense to change the locks.

He goes in quickly, and rummages through the drawers, finally finding it.

It’s right at the bottom of a pile of paperwork, hidden almost in plain sight, and he brings out the gun.

The cold metal is a satisfying weight in his hand, and he wraps his fingers, holding it as if he’s about to shoot.

_I’m just saying. Stay away from him._

“Bang.” He whispers softly.

What? It’s cathartic.

The sound of someone approaching snaps him out of it, though, and he tucks it into the waistband of his trousers.

He sneers as the figure approaches, cane clacking as he comes closer.

“You’re like a bad smell, ain’t ya?”

“Now, now, Ben, that’s not very nice.”

“What are you doing here?” He spits.

“Believe it or not, I’m not here to see you. You millennials are so entitled.” Aidan rolls his eyes. “Although, this does remind me. I want the money tomorrow morning.”

“You having me on?” Ben laughs. “We had a deal. End of next week.”

“Well, deals change.” He shrugs. “I’m sending my men to get Zara tomorrow. Unless they get a text from me saying I’ve got the money.”

Ben clenches his jaw. “You’re a prick.”

“Don’t let me down, Mitchell.”

He grinds his teeth at the surname.

Ah, it makes sense now.

“You’re here for my dad?”

“I am. No thanks to you.” He clicks his tongue. “I did ask you to send a message.”

Ben’s upper lip curls, but he’s not about to tell Aidan about the nuances of his difficult father-son relationship.

He wouldn’t have been able to, anyway, because the door to the Arches opens for the third time. Phil grunts as he steps in.

“Aidan.” He’s not heard his dad’s gruff voice in a long time, and it brings a wave of melancholy.

“Phil!” He smiles a deranged smile.

“Well?” He asks impatiently. “What you dragged me here for?” He doesn’t seem to care about Ben being in his garage, doesn’t show any signs of wondering why he’s here at all, and it stings. Only a bit. Whatever. Ben’s used to it.

“Two nights time. Ruby’s. All you have to do is be the muscle.”

Phil nods.

“Wait, hold up. You’re nicking from the club down the road?”

“I’ve taken care of the security cameras,” Phil ignores Ben, “And the safe should be easy enough.”

“Ain’t that below your pay grade?” Ben interjects. He knows he’s not his dad’s favourite, very much the opposite, but it doesn’t mean he can stop himself from worrying.

And risking prison for a job which won’t even get him a lot of money? _Of course,_ Ben’s worried.

“Dad,” he tries, “why you going through with this?”

“It’s none of your business.” Phil snaps, finally looking at him. “Ain’t you got your own life to care about?”

Ben bites back a snarky remark, throwing Aidan a dirty look as he walks past him. “Fine.” He retorts, slamming the garage door behind him.

Whatever stupid thing Phil’s about to pull, he hopes it doesn’t land him in trouble, and tries not to let the fact that his dad is risking _prison_ play on his mind too much.

Still, worrying about Phil beats thinking about how a suffocating feeling called Callum might just be heartbreak.

+

Callum shuffles into the kitchen, and the wind outside slams the door shut behind him.

The staff all look up at the noise but flinch when they see him and go back to work.

He takes in a deep breath. This is going to be awkward.

“Excuse me.” He clears his throat, waiting for everyone to put their things on the worktop. “This morning, I - I lost my temper, which wasn’t cool. I don’t want to be that kind of boss. This restaurant works cos _we_ do, as a team, so - uh, sorry.”

It’s silent.

He stares at the floor.

“Don’t worry, boss,” Dev pipes up, “Must just be Ian Beale rubbing off on ya.”

Callum chuckles nervously, and a few others join him.

The cook nearest to him slaps his back, “It’s okay, man.”

The quiet chatter returns, and Callum breathes out, smiling and relaxing for a second.

The smell of freshly made paella wafts its way to him and he walks up to the new kid. “That looks amazing, Jaz.”

The boy beams at him, holding up some peeled shrimp.

He decides to do a round of the kitchen, and front of house, and finally goes to his office to place orders for the suppliers and send an email to Ian about adding avocado toast to the lunch menu.

He’s tapping away at his computer when there’s a knock on his door.

It’s one of the line cooks.

“We’re done cleaning up but there’s still a couple customers left who aren’t done eating.”

“Do you think they’re ordering afters?”

“Nah, just finishing their dinner.”

“That’s fine, me and the waiters can clear the rest, thanks.”

The cook nods but lingers in the doorway.

“Yeah? Something wrong?”

“No, just wanted to say,” he pauses, “Everyone has off days. Don’t be hard on yourself about it. You’re a pretty decent boss.”

Callum smiles down at himself. At least he has a good relationship with his employees, if not anyone else. He reckons he should probably send Tiffany a text to apologise.

Before he does that though, he does another round of the place, checking in on the last few customers.

It’s a family of three who are waiting for their kid to finish up, and a couple who can’t keep their hands to themselves.

“Lana?” His jaw drops as she leans into the other man as she giggles. A man who is too tall and well-built to be Ian.

She widens her eyes and immediately sits up, whispering something to him, unnecessarily trailing a finger up and down his chest.

“All right, but hurry back.” He swoons.

She sways her hips as she gets up, gesturing to Callum and sauntering out of the place.

“What are you doing here?” She asks sharply in a thick French accent as Callum follows her.

“I _work_ here. I didn’t know you and Ian had split.”

“But he told me you didn’t work in the evenings.”

He’s not going to tell her the exception is when he voluntarily takes the morning off. Besides, that’s not the point.

“That’s not the point. When did you guys break up?”

“We haven’t...broken up, exactly.” She winces.

Callum shakes his head. This is not his problem, and Ian was always punching, but this feels wrong. “Why are you with that bloke?”

Lana sighs, twirling a black lock between her fingers, “It’s just a work meeting. And _not_ your business.”

“So Ian knows about this?”

“Not your business.” She repeats.

She’s right, of course, but as infuriating as Ian is, he’s still Ben’s brother and the reason Callum has a job, so he feels a bizarre overprotectiveness for him.

“I don’t get it. Why don’t you end things instead of sneaking behind his back?”

“Because,” Lana shrugs, “Relationships make you feel trapped. You should know, you are in one also.”

Callum looks at her questioningly, and she sighs.

“Don’t you feel as if you’re making promises you don’t want to keep?” She shakes her head. “Besides, everyone ends up cheating anyway.”

“No they don’t! If you ain’t happy, all you have to do is tell him.”

“Oh, Colin, it’s not as simple as that.” Lana smiles condescendingly. “It is not that I am unhappy. I am just _bored_. This isn’t an affair. It is just excitement.”

She rolls her eyes when she sees Callum judging her.

“What? You think you will be happy forever in your relationship? It won’t exhaust you?”

“We haven’t had any problems with cheating so far. And I don’t want to leave him.” He responds truthfully, although it’s not quite the answers to her questions.

She picks up on it and hums. “You’ll see. You will get bored.” She huffs out a laugh. “I have to get back to my work meeting.”

“Lana? Are you going to tell Ian?”

She watches him curiously. “Are you?”

He shrugs. “None of my business.”

She nods. “Maybe. I care for him.” She looks at him with a thoughtful gaze. “You are really going to be with your man for the rest of your life, huh?”

Her heels tap as she walks back inside.

Callum slumps backwards, the brick wall behind him hitting his head.

_He’s going to spend the rest of his life with Simon._

His heart sinks.

A weight plunges in his gut and the only alarming thing about it is that this isn’t new.

It’s the same shudder he gets when he thinks about his future with his fiancé and he’s told himself it’s love but it’s not, is it?

Maybe they’re not ready for this.

Maybe they need a bit more time before they should get married.

Maybe.

The rest of the evening goes by in a blur, as he gives the rest of his staff the night off and clears the tables and loads the dishwasher and locks up the restaurant.

He takes the tube home, reciting the speech he’s created, going back and editing it to make it as good as possible.

 _Simon._ It starts. _I love you, and being with you is great, but the thing is I’m good with the way things are right now._

He’s not going to like this, but he’ll understand, and they’ll get through it. And when they do, and they’re both ready, they can worry about weddings and marriages.

Far into the future though.

He climbs up the steps to his house, confidence bringing a spring to his step.

“Oi!” A car honks. “I’ve been waiting ages.”

Callum spins to see Tubbs pull up in a black car.

“Change of plans,” he shrugs, “Warehouse. Tonight.”

Callum rushes down the steps and shushes him. “You said you’d tell me at least a day before.”

“Yeah, well, plans change. Get in.” He says indifferently. Callum stays where he is and Tubbs sighs, relenting. “Aidan wants the money or he’s sending his men to Cardiff tomorrow. We can’t let him find out he’s been tricked.”

Callum nods. This is for Zara, he keeps reminding himself.

He swallows, looking at the door to his house. The talk can wait.

He gets in.

“Mate,” Tubbs smiles, “Sort your boat out. We’re gonna be rolling in it.”

Callum hums in reply, not excited in the least.

As Tubbs drives off, he gets a text from Simon.

Instead of checking it, he shoves it in the glove compartment, ignoring Tubbs’ raised eyebrow.

If it buzzes with another text from Simon again, Callum pretends he can’t hear it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> short one with no ballum i know, but i'm really excited about the next few chapters! thanks for reading, stay safe <3


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